Elaine is beautiful.
My Saturday classes are hella boring.
Running into your wiseass business professor in a cafe on Saturday night is always uncomfortable. Especially when he looks down at your copy of ESPN the Sports Magazine and asks why you're not reading your business textbook.
And Saturday night continues. I have written a pretentious poem I would like to share with you all, because I'm feeling like a jerk.
EXISTENCE: A PRETENTIOUS DISPLAY OF HUBRIS
I stop every now and then and feel here
Feel now
Hundreds of miles from home. In my bedroom
Las Vegas, in the scope of millions of cities in
hundreds of countries spanning twenty thousand miles
One in a billion heres-and-now.
23, or 32. Kid, and man. At work, at rest
Every now and then I stop
And realize at this moment, I exist
and live and breathe and think
that which few other species can.
I realize that once I did not, and someday
my ability to realize I exist, like myself, will end.
It stops me in my tracks whenever
I stop every now and then and realize
I exist
Fin
Don't ask. I wrote in one five minute rush, looked back and wondered what the hell happened. I don't write poetry for a reason.
More to come as it develops.
My Saturday classes are hella boring.
Running into your wiseass business professor in a cafe on Saturday night is always uncomfortable. Especially when he looks down at your copy of ESPN the Sports Magazine and asks why you're not reading your business textbook.
And Saturday night continues. I have written a pretentious poem I would like to share with you all, because I'm feeling like a jerk.
EXISTENCE: A PRETENTIOUS DISPLAY OF HUBRIS
I stop every now and then and feel here
Feel now
Hundreds of miles from home. In my bedroom
Las Vegas, in the scope of millions of cities in
hundreds of countries spanning twenty thousand miles
One in a billion heres-and-now.
23, or 32. Kid, and man. At work, at rest
Every now and then I stop
And realize at this moment, I exist
and live and breathe and think
that which few other species can.
I realize that once I did not, and someday
my ability to realize I exist, like myself, will end.
It stops me in my tracks whenever
I stop every now and then and realize
I exist
Fin
Don't ask. I wrote in one five minute rush, looked back and wondered what the hell happened. I don't write poetry for a reason.
More to come as it develops.
and do write more in bursts. i think it is interesting