8:36-8:56
She sits naked and writes poetry. Who cares if water gets everywhere? You are nervous about insignificant events. You a scared little puppy. But not today no. She is in the window, stretching and doing hot yoga, listening to Veckatimist by Grizzly Bear. Her blinders are wide open and she could care less if binoculars or telescopes were zoomed into onto her daily happenings. More power to them she thinks. Making coffee naked, magically nothing spills onto scolding skin. Something erotic and voyeuristic in her idea that someone might just be watching. Someone somewhere will have an image scarred into their head. This people will be forever a stranger to you. But you will never be forgotten by them. You are some angel in the window, stretching beautifully in the rising morning sun. Say, young thing, we should make love some time? No offense on your refusal. You are something free and wild. Enigmatic in your myriad ways. You do everything. You have blonde hair sometimes. In certain lights. Looking brown in the dark. You vaporized all of your clothes and swim topless in the community pool. The idea of a swimsuit is offensive and inappropriate. And I sweat and float on my back in the shallows because I have no heart to ruin you with social implications. Sometimes some of us wished we were born in a different generation. I feel like this at least. I don't understand the popular things everyone loves. I don't get it. I hate it. I want to join a counterculture revolution, or something. Rather than avoiding culture. Live in a commune with other nude youths. Flowing hair in the wind as they run through the woods in glorious disregard. Whatever. Someone is in the room with her now. Someone is rubbing her shoulders and pretending like they care about her intellect more than her lips. Someone is attempting to erase me from her. Maybe she is doing this herself. Her guilt of offense breaks communication. I'd assume. I feel inspired to chat every now and then but I mute the urge. For my own sake of well being I must fully enter the desert. How many damn months has it been? I've been back for winter break for about a month now. Events blur together due to their frightening similarity. Interesting women... where are you? What do I do to be heard by you? Other thoughts grab me too. I don't care about them. Pursuing them. I will wait. Not deliberately for this reason. My sad boy tactic doesn't work.. call it a tactic? piss off. I am a sad boy. I will disengage from the social and enter the personal. Exercise. Diet. Knowledge. Skill. Cultivating talents so that wherever I end up in the fall is not such a waste. Dissolve into a mirage. They look alike, they think alike and they don't care about the environment. (almost used a swear word, gosh golly me... I can't use such vulgarities, they are not creative exploitations and although I hear them and see them more than I wish to, my exposure to them should not mean that I have to use them all of the time as well.) I hate their music and wished they might play something good now and then. But damn are they cute. Damn are they hot. This is a 20 year olds dream to be surrounded by so many beautiful and stupid women. But I'm not in a dream. They don't flock around me like wild geese. They don't smile at me as often as I smile at them. They generally have an aura of spoiled arrogance like chocolate coins that think they are gold. They look down on the world as if it was made for their bodies. Their curvy shapes and lack of eye contact. They have the same age-defying sunglasses and frown in the sunlight. This pressure is cooking me. I walk around like a ghost all damn day.
