beatnik living: May 2013

5/28/13

where is my mind

“Our hearts beat so loud the neighbours think we’re fucking
when I’m just trying to find the nerve to touch your face.”

-Andrea Gibson, “Pansies”

“The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars…”

-Jack Kerouac

“You either like me or you don’t. It took me twenty-something years to learn how to love myself, I don’t have that kinda time to convince somebody else.”

-Daniel Franzese

photo by me

Khalil Ibrahim

I usually try to theme my inspiration posts, with photos that are transcendent of similar vibes, but I'm currently cramming for finals and trying to study and really needed to post something so I just went for it uploaded a nice variety of photos for you to see. As well as some quotes that seem to be reminiscent of life and my life and probably and hopefully your life too.

Although tumblr is amazing, it also sucks shit face at providing one with accurate sources for photos, so sorry none of these photos have sources except for one. Or two.

I guess that's life for ya.

5/25/13

livin' life, man

I left for a while. Don't know why. I guess I just started livin' life, man, more so than recording what I wanted to experience. Funny though, because nothing monumental happened to me. I've been feeling extremely creative, but not in a repressed, "no time to create" way, but more so in a "wish I knew what I wanted to create" way. I'll put pen to paper, and attempt to write, but it's like I am missing a piece to the puzzle, and there is something preventing my words from flowing together to convey the message I'm trying to express, or read like the story I'm trying to tell.

Writing formally is extremely difficult for me. The organization of thoughts is a concept my mind has yet to grasp. My brain functions like my bedroom-in a constant state of disorganization, and yet I can always seem to find what I'm looking for.

I don't understand why teachers stress that writing needs to be organized, needs to flow methodically. I can only organize my words the way my brain expresses them, and for some reason, that just doesn't seem good enough. Writing has become so methodic, and it pisses me off that expression is now being taught to be a systematic formula rather than an expressionistic medium.

I still feel like I'm living with this weird haze over my head. Like I'm stuck in a fog that is some how repressing me. I feel like I'm trapped in my own body, or trapping something within my body, that is preventing me from leaving the fog and seeing things clearly.

And yes, my vision may be 20/300, but the fact that the lenses to my glasses may be thicker than George W. Bushes skull is not the reason for my inability to really see things.

I'm officially on the edge of seventeen, livin' the life of an almost sorta adult. I'm trying to hold out on teendom though, because I love everything being a teenager represents.

How do I go about telling a story? How do I go about telling my story?

I have no story to tell.

I have no movie-like experiences that make my stomach turn into a haven for butterflies.

I have no experiences that make my heart swell and my head feel like a feather.

But everyone has a story to tell.

Alright, fine. But I want mine to be great.