At The Grocery Store

A little devil peeks out
from my shirt pocket
At the grocery store
When the clerk says my card
Has been declined

The devil jumps out
And I try my best
To grasp at it
To put it away with my fears
and my doubts
Back where they belong;
Hidden

But the damned beast is too fast
And my hands are ribbons
Moving without warning or care
Just letting everything by
With a frightening caress

I snatch the card and leave
I hate the man outside
Helping the old woman with her bags.
I hate the children
Playing in the race car cart
With their ignorant glee.

My devil runs to them and screams
“You ignorant bastards!
Can’t you see i’m in pain?”
And I grab at him but
It’s too late now
The children know.

Art Appreciation and Our Sad Generation

I don’t think that appreciation of the arts should be restricted to a certain age or generation. I think it’s sad that people look down on young adults because we are in an age of technology, and art and poetry and literature is often forgotten.

We look down upon intelligence and assume liking art and music and literature is pretentious and aggravating. We call intelligent people “nerds” and those who appreciate art “hipsters”. It’s aggravating. I don’t think children should be given iPads for gifts. That’s completely ridiculous. I don’t think people should be looked down upon for getting good grades and reading old books and visiting art museums. The problem with our generation is that we rely too much on other people or on other things. We’re spoiled.

The other day I was sitting downtown reading a book. Three people walked past me and literally said, “Who reads books anymore?”

I believe in humans. Just not in humanity.

Life As I Know It.

Well, the time has come.

I am finally applying to college. I am applying to Georgia Tech. I can’t really tell if this is more for me or if this is for everyone else who wants me to become an engineer. I have no idea what I want to do. I thought maybe web designer, but i’m not even good at computers. I’d like to do art and literature, but I can’t write poetry and I wouldn’t be able to support myself off of art.

This is really difficult. No matter what, I really want to move to Atlanta. I feel like being in a city with so much culture will help me figure out what I need to do.

I also think i’m going to upload my art to here. I think that will somehow make me feel better. It’s not like i’ve had writer’s block. It’s more like i’ve just been in a slump. I don’t think I have any talent, and that’s why I can’t figure out what career I want. I’m sure i’ll figure it out.

On the plus side, I know where I want to work. I’d like to work for Google. I think that would be a good balance of creativity and engineering. I think it will be good for me. And I need to start listening to my own opinions.

This post is really sappy… I need to stop doing that.

I like the early morning cold
That comes in a lonely fall
When the other creatures
Are stuck
In a no-man’s dreamland.
It is not bitter
Nor biting
Nor blinding.
It is soft.

It is gentle in the way
That a friend will
Put their hand on
Your shoulder,
When you have forgotten
Your good qualities
Or cast them into doubt.

“Dewey was wrong when he said that being noble enough is all we can ask for in this world, because we can ask for much more than that. We can ask for a second helping of pound cake, even though someone has made it quite clear that we will not get any. We can ask for a new watercolor set, even though it will be pointed out that we never used the old one and that all of the paints dried into a crumbly mess. We can ask for Japanese fighting fish, to keep us company in our bedroom, and we can ask for a special camera that will allow us to take photographs even in the dark, for obvious reasons, and we can ask for an extra sugar cube in our coffees in the morning and an extra pillow in our beds at night. We can ask for justice, and we can ask for a handkerchief, and we can ask for cupcakes, and we can ask for all the soldiers in the world to lay down their weapons and join us in a rousing chorus of ‘Cry Me a River,’ if that happens to be our favorite song. But we can also ask for something we are much more likely to get, and that is to find a person or two, somewhere in our travels, who will tell us that we are noble enough, whether it is true or not. We can ask for someone who will say, ‘You are noble enough,’ and remind us of our good qualities when we have forgotten them, or cast them into doubt.”

-Lemony Snicket, The Penultimate Peril