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THE CHRONIC CONDITION:

Saturday, June 05, 2004

mm. Everything: getting into Twain, into Stuy, Dart, all those SAT's, my fucking IQ--all the things that place me at the tippity top of the population, the things the scream that, shmuck, if you'd only focus your energies you'd be a smashing success --have been falling on my deaf ears for a long time, because...ohhh, but what's success. All my life I've been motivated by the fear of mediocrity. But yet, at this point everything I'm supposed to be aiming at seems mediocre--what? top grad schools, high GPA. I've always hated school and why am I wrong for that? Picasso spent the time he did go to school staring at the clock (sounds familiar), Einstien took every opportunity to skip class, Fitzgerald all but flunked out of Princeton, Bill gates flunked out fo Harvard, Thelonious Monk flunked out of Stuyvesant. I could go on for ages. Everything I value and respect at this point has nothing to do with the big four-oh, or Harvard law. But that's exactly what I have to aim for if I'm as talentless as I might be. Awww, I'm tearing myself apart. Back to studying....calm, syncronized movements.

- "You're too distracted"
- "No, not distracted, abstracted"
________

HAHAHA. I could topple over laughing. To finally live with purpose because the usual things are no longer demanded of me. To slip away from under the glare of so many anemic entrenched disapproving--clueless--faces to a real differentiation and ripening in the wilderness outside of all things formerly known. My highest short term ambition is to find work on a boat, and complete a manuscript. Ok, that's all.