I started something a few days ago.
'I carry my Father’s severed head with me everywhere I go. It lays dormant in the right breast pocket of my navy blue blazer. And I do not flinch, or fret, or flutter. Because I know, he is there, on pages and ink. In verses and rhetoric I do not understand.
This is why, when I lay my head against the cool, hard wood of my chemistry desk I know I will not fail. Even as the words of my dry teacher wash over my unwashed ears. Even as my classmates snicker at my drifting, I do not flinch. I will not fail, so long as I have his head about my person. I am his son. I cannot fail.
"Wake up, Smith!" Mr. O'Malley slams his ruler down next to my grubby face.
I lift my head from my desk, as lazy as an old dog in summertime. I gawp up at him, blinking, bleary eyed. “Yes sir?”
The cold children snigger and my teachers tomato face hangs above mine, suspended by a single, angry thread. “Yes, boy, yes? Why, you haven’t been listening to a word I’ve been saying, have you?” he hisses, furious droplets splattering onto my face as he does.
“Of course I have, sir,” I reply before my brain has the time to tell my mouth not to.
“Oh, of course you have. Of course you have,” he shakes his head vigorously “So, I’m sure you’ll have no problem telling me what it was I was trying to teach you insolent louts, will you, Smith?” he smirks, completely sure of his victory.
“Chemistry, sir.” my response is greeted with unrestrained laughter, but it’s filled with venom. No, not a modicum of mirth to be found in their hollow, nasal cackling. Mr. O’Malley grabs my ear, and drags my awkward body from my desk.
“Don’t back chat me, boy! I think it’s time you had a word with Mr. Shepard.”' -- And there I fall flat.
I don't know.
I start to write, then I get all turned around and upside down. I start thinking, and then I think more, and I think more. Then there's so much thinking, so many thoughts. Things, things, things. So many things.
My friend, Lauren, and I were having a chat on Windows Messenger earlier. I think it explains my problem somewhat:
'(22:30) Me and the dragon: Life is interesting.
(22:31) Lauren: why?
(22:31) Lauren: and not just because the app on mum's fancyphone has the capability to work out the exchange rate on weed and coke, or "hard drugs" and linux?
(22:33) Me and the dragon: Because things happen, and people are born, they grow up - or they don't, they exist. Lots of things happen to them - or very few. Then they die. It's interesting.
(22:34) Lauren: ...you are way more meta than I am
(22:34) Me and the dragon: Explain?
(22:36) Lauren: I kind of live in the world, mostly, or my own version, partly because philosophising scares me, and thus never consider these things. whereas you seem to be in and out at the same time.'
I don't know, maybe it's just that I'm young. Maybe when I'm older I'll stop being distracted by intellectual shiny and just work.
I wish I could sleep more. Everything seems different when I sleep more. I wish I could sleep so much I'd wake up an old woman. I wish I could wish my life away.
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