Subdued Turmoil

[My favorite Flickr.]

So I didn't blog at all about the interesting occurrences of last week.
And I was so looking forward to when I found the chance to.
But now I'm sitting here, lucidly staring into the vortex of the luminescence radiating from the computer screen, and I am completely uninspired. Why do I find myself this way?

Well, continual disappointment may be a factor. Large and small scale.
Although I thought things were looking up for a while. Really did.
But my stomach feels like it's been processed through a meat grinder.
As does my dignity. And my inspiration.
Wait, what? Hard to say a nonexistent inspiration has been shredded.
Fuck. My. Life.

Anyways, I guess I'll divulge a few details of my current atmosphere. Lupita and I plan to act out part of the hilarious tragicomic play by Tom Stoppard, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead, for extra credit in AP Language. I saw the movie starring Gary Oldman and Tim Roth several months ago, it was wonderful. Not to mention Gary Oldman was quite delicious in his day.

As much as I pine and complain to my friends, I don't think anyone really understands the intensity with which I long for the ocean. It's literally painful. I hypothesize all my worries are culminating into this particular desire to fling myself into the tide. But who knows? I shall have to dream up something Freudian and go from there.


Speaking of Freud, I've been reading and reflecting on Tarantula by Bob Dylan. I wouldn't it call it divinely inspired, like my beat heroes, but it's still very good. It actually made me laugh, and even caused my eyes to well up momentarily. It's predictably written in a fantastical stream-of-consciousness story-telling form. Nonsensical letters that seem as if they were plucked from the minds of various strangers. Poetry or prose, I'm not sure. Let's just call it word-love, haha. Anyways, I actually bought this book, highly unusual, and luckily it was $10 off at Borders when I romped through the shitty mall with Lupita and Adriana. (Mis xoxalatinas.)

I wish creating came more naturally to me.
I feel like something is always on the tip of my tongue, or my pen,
but it never is expelled. Dear God.

How highly frustrating.