Wednesday, April 24, 2013

A Series of Underdeveloped Ideas

Journal Excerpts

The anonymous sea of faces I wade through each morning also wade through me.

Horoscopes are for those who get excited about their doing nothing.

"I have to get through that gate," vendor says to a girl.
"I'm sorry."
"Sit here, sit here, sweetheart."
New York is forgiving if you're polite and cute.

Having self worth is important. Thinking of yourself as important is troublesome.

The table legs have gashes where the chair seats beat them. The gashes are on the thickest section of the legs. The table was intentionally made this way.

He learned a trade and never gave it up, this was half of his dad's wish for him.

The edge of each subway step is worn where someone once fell.

I fear Berryman's boredom. DFW's last novel exemplifies ennui's toll on the soul. The tedium of living aides gravity in crushing a man.

Good southern food, greasy spoon, western griddle melting with death. Death is ubiquitous in my writing, but implies, hopefully, life's worth living.

Work is boring and a waste of time. If I ever feel this way about poetry, shoot me.

While lounging, I just had a glimpse of a beautiful evening, and then came back to my mundane one.

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