Still/Bright

I’m in happy kind of stuck. I’m an unemployed post-grad only child living at home, living off of an inflated allowance drawn from my still healthy college fund, and living truly spoiled for the first time in my life. To see friends and talk to friends, I drive through the streets of Long Beach, I drive to Cerritos, I drive to Redondo, I stop in Riverside, I circle Pedro. I drink and smoke and think things like, “I don’t know, I don’t think I’m being too bad to myself.” I take pictures wherever I go in a ‘reaching for non-fiction’ sort of way, I daydream about doing graffiti then do graffiti, I make mixes, I avoid writing, I put off starting on my grad school applications, then I put it off again. I don’t look for a job, but I wait and hope for my Hollywood job prospect to flesh out- working art department.

I try not to think about the ‘why’s’ of what I’m doing- the flaws and gnarled roots that I’m empowering- thinking there could be something I am learning here, too, and that perhaps foolishness can be a lighter shade reason. I try not to think of the time that I’m loosing or how rapidly I’m approaching NYU’s December 15^th deadline. Try not to think of the stories I could be writing and want to be writing. I think about fun.

Far off in my mind, I think about submitting photo and drawing portfolios to galleries- finding out where the weird ones are then think up arrangements and arguments to appeal to their cruder natures. I see myself reading the books on my shelves and growing eight feet taller. I watch more movies.

I see myself stopping this bullshit and listening to my arm.