A Day in the Life
I feel like I haven’t left the house in years; my mind tells me it’s time to get out — it’s been so loud inside lately; my neighbor plays the guitar.
I attempted at appearing composed — brushed my hair and pat goop on my tired skin.
I love this city because no one questions my pairing of sweatpants and a leather jacket. I try not to look at those talking to themselves with a cigarette in hand.
Someone asked to wear my glasses as I ran for the bus…the one I missed, followed by two more omitted. I’d make a terrible athlete.
I always trip on the uneven sidewalk, even when I know it’s coming.
I never know how to respond when asked Debit or credit? I try not to question the highlighter yellow goop sitting atop my lunch. It’s delicious, I don’t want to ruin that.
I don’t understand why we must adhere ourselves to every specificity of details when we are perfectly content with what is given? Perhaps life should be lived vaguely and loosely without any question of Debit or credit? What’s in this yellow goop here? or How?
Are we about to fall in love? I took one sip, as to the lavender flavored latte whispered lightly, Yes.
The masterpieces told me nothing as they showed themselves as vibrant chaos — a scattered gallery of contrasts.
I am a walking contradiction — my shirt reads AC/DC as my headphones blare of Dunham Froebel. You can guess who I am, but you will be wrong.
I love how abstract pieces remind us to challenge our perspectives in arbitrary ways.
YOU CAN GUESS WHO I AM, BUT YOU WILL BE WRONG.
Do you think artists look at a canvas and think Let me put love into you?
Through the mists of time, I try to picture myself existing in the pictures. The people dancing without faces was my favorite (they looked happy.) There were small houses painted as if fading away. How much is rent?
I felt more serene that I’d handed my thoughts over for the day. Irony is never as it seems.
Breakfast burrito for dinner.
