getting grimy/unintentional stupid "poetry"

I'm writing less here and more on my own, mostly because I know that people read this occasionally.  And while that is cool and everything, it produces very different stuff. Mostly less angsty.  Not as much swearing, either.  Not that there's anything wrong with swearing, I just think I use it gratuitously when I write for myself.


As usual, this is a product of procrastination.  This is going to be a very long, but very productive, night. I will practice violin in the music building, even though it is far away.  Everything sounds better in there.


Drop an apple, dust it off. Even if the white flesh is speckled with dirt
it can't hurt
when my teeth mark the skin
I can see how crooked they are
a space in between
that means I'm wise beyond my years
it's not that though
I am an underachieving genius who worries about the future
that's not wisdom
that's staring at a screen notebook dots and lines
trying to make it into sense
not knowing or believing that anything is complete
or good
so I think some more
and eat apples
and drop them on the floor. 

ahhhhh

I'm such an idiot
no one can read this ever 
I just reread some old posts
I'm such an idiot 
this is not a poem 
this is me freaking out and abandoning sentence structure
my poems are awful
I'm such an idiot
no one can ever find this blog
did I mention I am an idiot?

I missed this

One room next to mine is blasting jazz.  In the next room over, someone is practicing a monologue.  None of it bothers me, I like the noise, but I'm not sure why. I feel like I have been really busy all day, but I also feel like I haven't done anything at all.  I missed having work to do, learning things.  I can't find one of the readings for one of my classes, and the reading for another seems like such touchy-feely bullshit that I don't even feel like doing it.  But it's okay.  I am finally doing things.

Right now, I'm learning Bach's Violin Concerto in a minor. It's kind of the most exciting thing I am doing right now, because for once in my life, I want to be able to feel like I am good at playing the violin.  Good good.  Actually good.  Like if someone were to hear me play, and he or she said, "Wow, she's good".  That's what I'm talking about.  Right now though, it doesn't sound like a concerto so much as it sounds like notes.  I'm working on it.  It will be better someday.

I don't want to write about how school and life and everything has been so far, because there is both too much to say and not enough.  I wish I could talk about the people I've met and the things I've done, but I'm not sure I want to.  I think that all I need to say is that I am more myself here.  Except more extroverted.  Which is not me at all.

I think I am writing like Hemmingway right now. Or Camus.  Or someone who is not a good writer.  I'm no Dostoevsky.