Zee Blog

My ass is falling asleep.

Ugh. Hard tile floors are all I have to look forward to between my first and second class and its hour of free time.

I sit close to a door that leads outside and it seems that the average male has to somehow express his strength by slamming it open as hard as he can. I think they do it so that everyone waiting in the hall will take a moment to look at them and wonder why they are such a douche bag.

Feeling a little down today. The things I was somehow capable of pushing to the back of my head during the weekend are slowly beginning to infest my present mind.

The past can't hurt me, but I can hurt myself with the past. It has a funny way about it to be sure.

Today was a lecture about Keats in my Eng 222 class. What an amazing and tragic figure. Dies at the age of 26 from tuberculosis(sp?) which he contracted from his brother who he helped until his sivlings death. Some of the greatest poetry he wrote, he wrote with the knowledge that he would soon pass into death.

He believed that an artist, poet, author, etc. was a being that lacked identity. Although capable of experiencing things that most others could not experience, and to see things in a way others could not, they were forced to give up their own individuality. He believed that the artist was more of a conduit for the emotions of the universe rather than a single entity.

In place of wine and opiate he strove for solace in prose, the whole time desiring the peace the twilight of his life would bring.

Amazing, indeed.

When does the emotion of my life stop being art and begin to pitiable out-pourings?