Days come and go.
People win and people lose.
People get what they want and others don’t.
People come and go.
What’s left after we’re gone?
Madame Bovary is so meta. We haven’t made it very far, and Mrs. Kottke has tuned me to look for statements about how the characters and their actions are meaningless. It’s happened already in the book. The book tells you that it’s worthless. Flaubert tells you the book is not worth reading because the events haven’t changed anything.
So why read it?
No damn clue.
Why do we read any book?
When I talk to myself, it’s usually meta.
I make turns of phrase I don’t even mean to.
I wish I could just dictate my thoughts to something that kept track of them.
I’m afraid to freestyle rap because I want to remember what I said in case it was worthwhile.
Am I supposed to answer these questions I pose?
Are we supposed to have answers to the deep questions?
Are we supposed to have answers to the deep questions?
There should be discussion on these deep questions, but to hope for a real answer is not the way to have those discussions.
Where do you draw the line between poetry and prose?
I send
Chat messages
Like this sometimes
When I want to emphasize
Or keep attention
As I type
A long sentence
Or something.
Every day I learn something
Something to see every day
Something to do every day
Some reason to be every day
Every day can be the best day ever
Every day can be better than the last
Someday I’ll learn
I could write Emo Poems™ all day, baby.
Maybe I should show you my old ones, from 8th grade.
Who are you?
Is someone there?
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