A little Something.
They always tell me to not go on a tangent whenever they critique my work. I feel as if going on and on works great for me. Perhaps if I were to continue consistently for 12 straight hours, I can produce a worthy line or two. Maybe more, who knows? Let me keep it humble, because if I were to become realistic according to my own ambition and capability, I’d probably say somethings that might not be true, but I might also very well be foreshadowing. If I were to be foreshadowing when I say that I will be successfully creating in my later 20’s or anywhere in this lifetime, then let’s just hope fate is carried out. I would hate to be stuck in this metaphoric computer chair, elevating my ankle on the desk with a stater bros. plastic bag filled with ice on top of it for the rest of my life. Before I go on though, I just want to point out how much I hate spending countless hours attempting to articulate what writer’s are inferring through their sonnets, plays, novellas, and prose. Since I sometimes wonder how great it would be to have these deceased playwrights/poets/writers in my physical grasp and simply ask if they actually wanted the audience (us) to draw out deeper meanings in their works or if the genius was behind them just writing a goddamn story. If that’s the case, then i must say, the academic society has wasted a lot of time on nothing. Back to my point though: I will admit that I have trouble decyphe
