Take it back summertime. I remember when you wholly belonged to me, when I didn’t care, when I was good without trying, when every thought came easy, when I didn’t feel the need to recognize my romantic self Oh “feelings”, “feelings”, “feelings” I wish you would go away.
And now what? …that gradually growing feeling of complete inadequacy is slowly heaping itself upon my head and soon I won’t be able to breathe. I don’t know if I like it very much. I don’t know if I’m cut out for this life of endless hoops and back road mazes. “Feeling” lost. Why do they get to decide what is right and wrong? Hypocrites, the lot of them. They claim they want you to grow and become more than you are, but is it true growth when they point in only one direction and tell you that you must go that way? I don’t think it is as “liberating” as the claim. I laugh at them, and they don’t know it. Maybe one day I’ll have the courage to challenge them to their faces, but for now who am I? What do I know? I think I am with Mann on this one. “It is a fact that there is no society in the world so dumb and hopeless as a circle of literary people who are hounded to death as it is. All knowledge is old and tedious to them. Utter some truth that it gave you considerable youthful joy to conquer and possess- and they will chortle at you for your naïveté…literature is a wearing job. In human society, I do assure you, a reserved and skeptical man can be taken for stupid, whereas he is really only arrogant and perhaps lacks courage. So much for ‘knowledge’.”
This feeling of indifference is not motivational. I can’t see past the second page of this tattered book because the remainder has gone missing. They stand alone, in another room, where unseen eyes guard them every hour. To be beyond this place would be relief, a thing I can’t currently possess. Creep up, creep up, and crush me down, I dare you.
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