My Journal, Part 4 (2000)

I thought that since I hadn't really thought in a while that I should. I
think I released enough before to make up for the rest of my life;
unfortunately, I still have more. Reflecting on the end of an era:
college is over, the die is cast.

I've found it that speaks for me or to me or even through me.
No, not that I'm
the mouthpiece,
the fountainhead,
the poster boy,
the quintessence (or the Fifth Element).
I s'pose I tried to be, and
it's likely that
I'll keep on trying.
Mincing words, losing my turn,
watching things burn.
There are some things you don't have to explain.
But most you do.
There's always those; explain them to me, would you?
Or whatever she said? could you?
And she'll understand: should you!
The intermixed strands of words that I was talking about.
Or maybe they're something else, that helix of reality,
or whatever stupid metaphor I try to use next, with
[my good friend yet arch-nemesis] Super Ficiality
(always, wannabe).
These past few years have been just that: few
& as much as I want them to be over
& as much as I want to get out "there"
& as much as I can't wait...
I can.
That I would've been a little smarter,
or just gone a little farther,
or maybe tried a little harder,
but it probably wouldn't have worked out anyway.

She understands, in her own way, as we all do, but
you know she has to have those little subtleties,
those itty-bitty nuances, those, well, you know, but
they're there, and as she says, they're so hers.

Oh, but it's been a ton of fun, and that's what important:
Constrained hedonism.