Geek mode

You never know what strange thing you're going to miss. 

I've never been one of those that sit in the front of class rooms and absorb everything that falls out of a teacher's mouth, you know. I spent most of my educational life in the back benches, drawing in my notebooks and pretending to listen. Except for the times I did listen, of course. In any case, I knew when I was passing out that I would miss college. But never expected to miss this aspect of it. That, people, is a shocker. 
Not that I don't have the occasional lecture to attend still. I do. Indian Aesthetics for four fucking hours every Saturday. Intriguing things I hear in those classes too. And antsy I get once three hours are up. (I've never been particularly patient.) But I was reading an essay on Rilke yesterday, and I realized all too suddenly how badly I miss my lit lectures. I can't explain what it was about my lit classes, but aesthetics don't measure up at all. Maybe if it was appreciating art I'd be more thrilled. But temple architecture and old Sanskrit texts just don't cut it. Neither do a large bunch of really pompous people. I truly believe that the woman who taught me literature knows mostly everything there is to know about everything at all. And if she could have gotten by without being the least bit pompous, really, all of them can. 
I don't know what my point is. All I'm saying is, I miss all those lectures, those modern poets and pop culture theorists, the feeling ill-informed even, and mostly I miss the company of people who do not think I'm pseudo or a loser or a geek for loving dead writers who knew more about people than most living people ever will. Don't get me wrong, I'm not an emo freaky geek. But I swear to god I find shades of Camus in Queen (who I have been listening to cos I work on Bohemian Rhapsody shoes next). 
I miss it and it makes me sad.
A yellow paper rose twisted 
on a wire hanger in the closet,
and even that imaginary,
nothing but a hopeful bit of hallucination..
(Ginsberg)

But nice, nonetheless. And I guess that's all that really counts.
And now I go to jam. Ta ta.
~


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Author: Kirtana K

I paint and make music and blog like a maniac. These days I try to run. But I have chicken legs and lungs the size of two-rupee balloons. I fail. I like pajamas and striped socks and books that read like song and songs that sound like poetry and strangers who read this page. And Maggi when I'm sick or cold or sad or celebrating. They'll find noodles in my veins if ever they cut me open. And potatoes. And maybe a tiny bit of whiskey. I'll be an Unidentified Living Object and they'll put my insides on display. It will be crazy. It will be awesome. It will.

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