Intellektual Monologue

Description:


An email I sent to my program director this morning:

Marie –

I am struggling! I don’t know what to do. I can’t even figure out how to register for this conference – and I missed this other conference this morning. I’m late to all my classes, I can’t seem to get anything straight, and I don’t even have a TB test to go on rotations and hand in a log next week! I need help – I don’t know what I’m doin wrong and its just getting more wrong by the day. People are starting to want assignments and such and I don’t even know what for when and who. I feel crushed and this place is alien and I wanna go home!

Waaaaaaaa

Mike



“For I say unto you in all sadness of conviction that to think great thoughts you must be heroes as well as idealists. Only when you have worked alone / when you have felt around you are a black gulf of solitude more isolating than that which surrounds the dying man, and in hope and despair have trusted to your own unshaken will / then only can you gain the secret isolated joy of the thinker, who knows that a hundred years after he is dead and forgotten men who have never heard of him will be moving to the measure of his thought / the subtle rapture of postponed power, which the world knows not because it has no external trappings, but which to his prophetic vision is more real than that which commands an army. And if this joy should not be yours, still it is only thus you can know that you have done what lay in you to do / can say that you have lived, and be ready for the end."

- Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr.


Locusts
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Locusts

The waves of sadness get tidal -
I swing from soon-to-be
To suicidal,
Souped up to in denial
Full-grown to child
And its wild -
Because I almost know I can do better
At night, stifling tears, reading my recommendation letters.

This is not how it's 'sposed to be!

And no one close to me
Can help me at the party that
They tried to host for me.
It's become a boast for me:
'Ya I missed that and I'm not worried'
Though the words burn my mouth like curry
I feel like a snow flurry,
Tossed upon the wind -
And as I wend
I begin to ken there's no reason then
To hurry
I’ll still be buried
When I hit the ground anyway -
Anyday
I'll hear the many say
I'm late anyways -

Shit!

I'm all outta options!
Its the wrong combo of pills that I’m popping
And I'm feeling like I’m close to stopping -
I do 60 in the school zones,
Flippin off the cops’n
I half wish they'd hit they lights
So we could get this shit hopping.
I'm locking,
Myself into all new cages,
Breaking down my supports with all new rages
Stages of remorse lined up like Broadway,
Flashes in my mind lighted up like broad day
And if one more broad say
That she'd really love to help but she can't
Whether in, business or romance
I'ma swarm like fire ants
On the chance
That I can burn action out of her stance until -
Dance bitch, dance!
Breaking of my plans -
Still further enhanced by
The shaking in my hands
Caused by lithium valanced
With so many recants

Plus Alcohol

Makes me ask myself what I can give at all-
How much before I fall?
Nothing answers the call
Baal
From faith on down
Cotton candy and fat clowns
Pick up the blade and put the gatt down
Stupid dreams lifted from childhood
All smacked down
Like an ass I cast around
Held fast and bound,
I can see what I want but the glass blocks the sounds --
Outside looking in
Future looking dim -
Neck still stiff face that won't ever brook chagrin.
I waste my breath on this circumlocus -
But I taste my death whenever I try to focus -
It’s so plain that I’m insane
Still they try to judge my pain:
A son of Cain –
Being eaten by his locusts.