shhh from my journal.
"I went to this open mic thing at a coffee shop and a few people read poems. So did I. Then Joe did. I feel kind of sorry for him that he thinks he's artistically inclined but he really isn't all that good. his poetry is maybe good enough for hallmark to CONSIDER, but eventually would turn down. Everyone was telling me I'm amazing, and its sort of odd because its like as much as I deny the compliments, i almost expect them. By no means do I ACTUALLY think I'm good...But its like everyone is always blown away and I'm jaded to it. It means something to me, the praise, but its like maybe its not fully registering? I feel pretentious and unjustified....Yet...I expect wonderment. I hate myself for admitting all this. Anyway, people were overenthusiastic about my work. Which felt nice. I just can't decide whether I'm really deserving. I compare myself to all these real poets, and maybe I'm just thinking on the wrong scale because I am just a kid. I wish these compliments could mean what they are supposed to."
stork daddy shhh indeed 020804
SHUSH daring to quote nobody_in_particular, stork daddy seems like the fuckwad of the bunch. of your names I mean. 020804
stork daddy let's use our inside voices 020806
me It is really pathetic when I have to try and remember what my insides look like. If, like science sugests (not saying that they're right), and my brain IS me, IS my thoughts and my brain is writing this at this very moment and in fact it is not MY BRAIN it is ME because brain controlls thoughts and emotions therefore we do not have a BRAIN we are BRAIN, then shouldn't I already know that? I can't remember. That means my expectations are somewhere else. Do you understand? 021205
Syrope my mind and my heart and my soul and my womb travel

everything else stays pretty stationary. it must be boring to be a liver.
what's it to you?
who go