Everyone sells out

So lately I've been in between dreams, scheming and seeing nothing through. Running around in circles and wondering why the scenery isn't changing. Shit goes wrong and shit goes right but in the long run they're really nothing more than potholes in the long road to the middle. My aspirations to mediocrity.

I've been occupying my time doing things with the purpose of making the hands tick by faster. I've accomplished damn near nothing. I am unmotivated. I am uninspired. I am utterly utterly unoriginal.

"I like too many things and get all confused and hung-up running from one falling star to another till I drop. This is the night, what it does to you. I had nothing to offer anybody except my own confusion."

Jack Kerouac was never wrong about anything.

My creative writing course is going to be a lot more difficult than I had originally expected and it seems that this whole semester is going to be one big failure after another. Everything I've written since the first meeting of the class is complete and total garbage, melodramatic slobber that drips from the page like kisses wet with tears. Utter. Emo. Shit. I'm trying too hard. That's really what it is. I want so badly to scribe something enlightening and... fuckin'... important that I'm selling out in the worst of ways. I'm trying to write good poetry. I'm trying to produce something utterly synthetic and sell it as philosophy. I'm a fucking scenester. I hate people like me.

In between writing stanzas better suited for boys with feathered hair and girl's jeans than the intellectual elite I'm ignoring my other work and trying to subscribe to a work-out regiment. So I'm trying to look better before swimsuit season. Fucking sellout.

And as sick as I am of the whole "Waahh, I'm upper middle class white with feelings and no one understands them" mentality, I can't help relate. It's this cancerous feeling of not belonging in the pit of my stomach.

Where's my golden girl?

"The only people for me are the mad ones. The ones who are mad to love, mad to talk, mad to be saved; 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."

You know you've hit a new plateau of lameness when you snag quotes from your facebook profile to convey tone in your blog - which incidently has an RSS feed with facebook and loads all blog entries into the page's "notes" section.

Christ.

Bomb the blogosphere,
Mike

In honor of High Fidelity:
My Top 5...
Pump-Up Songs

5. "Invalid Litter Dept." by At the Drive-In (tie)
5. "Post Script" by Finch (tie)
4. "Timberwolves of New Jersey" by Taking Back Sunday
3. "Amphetamine" by Everclear
2. "Let's Go" by Trick Daddy ft. Lil Jon and Twista
1. "Victoria's Secret" by Sonata Arctica (don't knock it 'til you try it)

Honorable Mention:
"Fight Club Theme" by Nine Inch Nails
"Theme Song of a New Brunswick Basement Show" by Lifetime