my name? by Spencer in 2003. That all 17 year-olds would have such a strong vision of themselves. Attached are the three pages from the original journal: My name? Not that it’s of any formidable consequence. It is Spencer, son of William. Scholar of many crafts and traveler of many lands.. A vagabond of sorts with an affinity for poetry and lager and many things carnal. A Dreamer and gazer of stars. Both fire and earth by the zodiac but somehow deeply aquatic and dispositionally aerial. A connoisseur of kisses and chemicals and philosophy. though I claim none as my own. A finger in most every pie within my reach and a hand in many unknowing puppets. A discusser of Shakespeare, though a modest reader. A Heretic by many rights and a demon in the eyes of the law. Content, but somehow so empty. Missing so much yet satisfied to watch the world turn below my feet. A critic of most everything. Harsh in my judgments, but gentle in my casting of them. Aimlessly lost between thestatic and the history books. Dabbling in the first but always looking for a way to sneak into the latter. Quite complicated for such a simple fellow, or perhaps just very simply complex. I walk with the step of a man who knows his mind, but write with the blindness of a deeply lost spirit. My soul, I know, is old. Perhaps amongst the oldest. But my naïveté never seems to flag. I question what I know, and often times don’t know what I question. I listen for answers, but quickly lose attention in them if they aren’t particularly compelling. I’m potentially a waste of humanity as I’ve wasted much of my human potential. My fear of death is minute, though it makes itself abundantly apparent. I know not what to expect after this life, though I am positive that there is something. My eyes, I’ve heard are deeper than most, though I see this world as being terribly shallow. I am simultaneously hasty and lazy. My aspirations are little, so as not to disappoint myself when I don’t meet them. I’m honestly not sure where this life is going and I just as honestly do not care. So long as I can love and be loved. So long as I can inspire and be inspired. So long as the sun keeps sliding through the sky, and the rain still falls on occasion, I’m sure that whatever supremely awaits me shall come. And when finality brings itself to me, I will not run and vainly avoid the inevitable. I will cast my arms out and blindly embrace my end Just as I have always embraced whatever Has come with the wind.
Posted on: Thu, 11 Sep 2014 09:54:13 +0000
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