well, shit, i suppose

hometown coming in strong, closing in (things i am no longer apart of, may have been once, maybe i am making that up), sudden awareness of every external thing, the things surrounding me, happening elsewhere. how much is dependent on location? how much are we a product of environment, how much is environment a product of the self? fictions of the mind vs. real life vs. the external world--is it really what we make it (i)? nothing seems vitally important right now. no motivation to write two papers due tomorrow. this seems negligent, silly, self-indulgent. what else? girls in suitcases somewhere in northern california, people i once knew (idolized?) stabbed in the throat, friends with babies, nyc serial killers in the 70s--all this shit i have no access to, but somehow find infinitely interesting. suicide of this boy a few years older than me, i was in 7th grade, friends of the family, nothing on the internet. fuck the internet. or maybe i am just so starved for something else than where i find myself now. acceptance, immerison, acknowledgement, admission, time to move on, hunker down, focus, hone in. what else but to awake, explode, keep going. prayer is something i have lost all grasp and conception of, yet somewhere i think i still yearn for it, for the idea. i want to say the nature of the thing is more important than the idea of it, i want to say we made eye contact, i want to say this matters, but i don't know what i believe anymore. the future looms blank and blinking. yesterday, today. nap. today. tomorrow is all laid out, tonight, this week, next week possibly the coming months. beyond that? i'm afraid my life will never amount to anything profound, but hey, i've been sitting here for 3 hours and haven't done shit about that. i've learned a lot, thought a lot, discovered and uncovered and recovered. like the pamphlets little girls in floral dresses hand out on the corner of state & north u: i could die today, you could die today, maybe even we could all die today. and then what? will the stars still come out tonight? will the birds still sing in the morning? and god, who is he? are we all so self-focused, centered. reliving and relieving and leaving and coming and going and staying and maybe i just want to walk and breathe and feel the air closing in around me (me me me me me me me me) because is that what it really comes down to, yes? america is for me a bug collection, right now, underglass and dissectable, or maybe that's just my past or maybe, still the possibility that i am making it all up. all of this. solipsism. what place does that notion have? invisibility, indivisibility, oh. there are so many people that have changed my life in those tiny, secret, string-theory ways. and none of them know it. and none of it is significant. oh, nothing, i suppose, nothing but this and this and this and.