I haven't written in awhile; what I have submitted lately have actually been old, dusty drafts I've found lying around. So, here's me trying to organize some nervous thoughts of mine into words.

It's human nature that, when we speak, we expect an audience. We finished reading Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead today, and that's probably the only thing I cared to learn while reading it. It was the Player who spoke of it.
The very fact that I'm posting this on this little art website or whatever suggests something about the audience I'm trying to attract. It might suggest that I want to consult the opinions of brilliant, artsy types of people, or maybe complete dumbfuck weirdos who believe that empty garbage is art. It might suggest that there are few people in my current reality I can seriously speak to without realistic awkwardnesses getting in the way, or it might suggest that I'm a whiny emo kid. I don't know; I only know the "seems" of things as opposed to the "is"es, because I'm only one person; depending on who you are, it'll suggest different things to you.

I mean, we all believe we were born individually. Pysically, we're all born individually. It's why the whole idea of "society" will always shut out certain individuals from its definition of things, why it'll never quite be perfect and why trying to perfect it makes whoever's attempting to do so stupid...I wrote my AP English application essay something about that; all I knew was I got in, but I wish they'd've given it back to me; it was the most meaningful thing I'd written in...awhile. At least I think so; again with the "seems."

But again with the "seems"! People with their fucking seams.

Perception backfires a lot. It backfires when you want to nudge someone to feel a certain way, when you want to tell the truth to something, when you lie. It can backfire with every single gesture and every single step you take, every glance you make and every word you speak, depending on your audience, both percieved and there in actuality. And you can't see yourself doing these things; you can't perceive wether you're doing them right or not; you have to rely on other people for rights and wrongs. The words I'm typing at this very moment could just be a garbled rant about nothing; it's happened before. I've written something, then looked back maybe a day later and seen it from a different perception than before, one a day older than when I had thought it out, and seen that what I'd created was just shit. It's happened, and it could be happening here.

Which is why it's so much easier to not care, and to lie. An old friend I used to have, but moved away, she used to speak so freely and stuff. My brother, being all brotherly at the time, asked me about my friends once, was asking me why they and I were friends. For her, I said it was because she didn't care what I said. My brother said that was a good reason.

I developed a bit of a crush on that friend-girl of mine, but didn't act on it because I was too much of a doof. Seems I remember that she might've liked me. Seems.

Seems I've grown a couple of years older since then, an inch or two taller, broader in muscle, darker of eye, and kind of calloused.

I don't like pity though; there is no "seems" about that.

...

I'd finish this thought, but it's already gone from my head.

You, people I know and even people I don't; you seem to see pieces of me. I seem to be falling apart at the seams.

This don't seem to be workin' out.


[/kinduva prayer]