delusion

i have been extraordinarily adept at wasting time this week. i have a 12 page paper due on "The State of Modern Contemporary Fiction". the topic in and of itself irritates me. what the fuck is the purpose in the redundancy of modern contemporary....as opposed to what? historical contemporary fiction? those 12 pages are stuck inside my brain somewhere, waiting...like baby teeth under pink gums and words in a pen. but i have managed to write about 70 pages this week for no purpose other than to quiet the incessant noise of the stream of conciousness that scrawls prose across my mind and torments me.
after the presidential press conference i have been reflecting a lot on the human tendency to naively believe without questioning or doubt. anyway, i think i need to smoke a large amount of marijuana to dumb myself down enough to write my stupid paper.
This is another yellowed photograph, slipped from under the plastic film of a photo album that desperately clings to A Time in Childhood before beginnings & endings, before doubt & pain, before genocide & war.
Doubt came as a softly taunting chorus & settled as an everpresent cacophony, the signifier of "maturity". Doubt was the poison that incrementally invaded. Slowly, thieving, scheming-Doubt is the softly traumatizing whore that stretched and climbed and consumed the spaces in my fragile lace of identity. Before doubt, there is only belief. The vulnerable naivete of the chorus as we chant it back, obedient, unquestioning:"In 1492, Columbus sailed the ocean blue...". Before there was anything but belief there were reindeer that flew through one night a year and the teeth slipped under our pillows were traded for shiny coins as we slept.