Grrrr...

boredom has turned itself on, like the fire that burned--incessantly--from the fake fireplace of the house i recently toured. i can't afford it. just like i can't afford this. the television stopped stimulating me when i was five. you stopped stimulating me even before then (to say the least, the presence of outside people-and their accompanying thoughts-has always been risible). i've always been left to my own devices: books, bubble gum, lip gloss. i spend time educating. and being educated. dependency scares me. i stand in front of a class and instruct them about things that won't matter later on. then, i face criticism for teaching them how to think. (i'm supposed to tell them what to think.) i leave the inferno (i must abandon the 8,000 hopes i once had before i enter) to sit in front of an instructor who is avidly helping me. to. add. one. more. sheet. of. paper. to. my. repertoire. i don't listen. turnabout is fair play. i do not want to introduce myself to anyone. i'd prefer not to talk to you--or anyone else, for that matter. i love that you hate me. i love that you spend your time saying "not so nice things" about me...while i spend my time trying to remind myself that you exist. so i'm not poetic. but i can write you under the table. music is my homeboy. live music. i have finally learned the rules of the game. and i intend to play better than anyone else. that wasn't mine. but it was a really sexy fragment...