| [ |
music |
| |
the next ten minutes |
] |
---So were practicing college essays in English and this duchbag from NYU had this wicked random essay that the university mistook for intellegence. so i tried to have mine be really abstract but more structured. Its random and begging to be deep but if you have a few minutes let me know what you think---
It is dark out. The time is late and right now I’m in deep thought. The weather is incredible. It’s one of those nights, where you realize the dulcet arrangement of warmth, breeze, and darkness. The first summer night. It is, to me at least, a dangerous recipe for deep thinking. I start to pay attention to what I’m thinking about. Paper due dates, terms coming to a close quickly, people who I may never see again in my life. I start to get very stressed and anxious. I’m in the worst position in the world when I realize that I’m not and climb out of my dramatic mental hole. You can finally smell the air, but its one of those nights, nights when people meet, when young women cry, when young men get angry, only to cry when they are sure no one is looking. It’s a dangerous recipe. I hope shes ok, but what about the people with no hope.
This is going to be grammatical disaster. As I fully, mentally and metaphorically shift lanes, I subconsciously, literally, but not fully shift lanes. My car, Broq, straddles half of route 495 north and my gas gauge straddles a fluorescent E. But I am too bold to notice. I am strapping on my cape, to go save the children in Africa or maybe the lower middle class single mother. I am unfortunately venturing on part of the highway without the jagged imprints on the exterior asphalt of the road. If I was someone else I wouldn’t be on this stretch I’d hear the sound of something between a buzz saw on a rigid piece of wood and a jet engine. This makes no sense, we could afford to make the sides of highways marshmallow if we didn’t spend so much on war, but maybe its financially easier to waste soldiers and have an auditory ordeal on either side of our highways. If I fell asleep at the wheel I’d rather wake in an ivory sea of deliciousness than be torn from slumber by the worst alarm clock ever.
On a larger note, (a D#), there has to be a better skeleton for our society. We are a hastily built scaffold. A platform so someone could move the clouds, the stars, the rain, the moon, and/or any heavens you believe in to make room for profitable floors of asbestos and concrete. If there are no stars what are supposed to wish on? Wishing wells are bull. They tell you to shoot for the stars, but I guess that was too far so they told all the children to throw their nickel and copper into our water supply. Most of all I want to wish with my head up and my goals high, not down into a dark hole where you can’t see the end, the prize, or the cheese.
60 miles later I race on. Broq is littered with bruises but has kept himself well aimed and has only hit things that look cool when you hit them with a car. Which reminds me,in the race of life where are the people on the side cheering you on and wishing they had your motivation? Where are the people screaming their lungs off and launching grenades of hydrated Dixie cups at your face.
I soar through a parking lot hitting a magazine crate and an ATM machine. Broq is on his own, I can’t change where my car chooses to go anymore than I can change who I am. I’d like to be a better actor and singer.
I found one of the last stellar pinpoints left. I wish I didn’t have to worry about college. I wish I didn’t have to worry about what people thought. I wish the perfect combination of words could change someone’s life, or win anyone’s love, and I was the reigning champion at producing these combinations. I wish I didn’t talk so fast because the only power I have, is the power to change someone’s opinion of me by what I say. I wish music could sound better and heal more, and people didn’t cry, people only cried because they were happy. My car has tired himself out in a ditch. Half of poor old Broq is somewhere between a tree and the ground. Broq was quite the speed demon, but I was fine. I didn’t feel a thing.
One time I thought that if I wrote down everything I think about, the imagery and bitter emotions would make Charles Dickens' work look like it was done by a 1st grader who had one too many.
However I had to keep myself amused so I added an unrestrained speeding car. It went soaring past pieces of the world, taking dents from objects, or totally obliterating them. No matter how long the E was alight the car sped on, a piece of metal and plastic rocketing through a hopelessly inevitable journey.
--- yeah begging to be deep. but idk let me know what you think.---
|
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
bradk25e's journal