deepundergroundpoetry.com

So Professor Doucet says "At least a thousand words on what you do and don't want out of this class"

    I think what I'm mostly looking for in this class mam is what it is intended to do. I need to learn to analyze and articulate things better. I need to know how to produce what I want to in a more professional manner. A high five from your peers is only sometimes gratifying when the only reason you consider them a peer is because they once wrote something you liked and you wrote something once that they said they liked.  But how much can you trust their opinion on your's or your's on their's when you think your writing is shit?          
         
    That's a big self destructive and inspiring circle. It destroys all validity of any statement they or you make. I don't wanna be a construction guy or do data entree or be a fuckin drug dealer anymore. I don't wanna live in a cubicle or an apartment with a shared bathroom down a hallway that must resemble the one you have to walk down to get to Limbo. It's not how you get to hell, and definitely not how you get to heaven but you don't wanna go there unless you really have to shit.        
   
At the end of the semester I want Bob dylan to sit on my lap like Tom Petty does his or crawl in the coffin and cuddle with Amy Winehouse while David Foster Wallace tries to tunnel over to chat but we don't answer his knocks, were busy with sweets cuz we got so high even in our graveyard all the worms are gummi.    
              
     I wanna be able to spend a year at Walden pond alone and have it be lucrative. There is a need to be better at things like life and love and at the foreground have a successful relationship with self. And none of that will ever happen if I can't even express the desire to do so in a beautifully coherent way on the page. John's world only exists in ink. Everything else is just filler. It's high fructose corn syrup, THC, plastic polymer and bologna bi product.. It's broken guitar string, bottom shelf, plastic jug whiskey rot gut, to the filter smoked cigarette butt tobacco rolled out of the blank pages in the back of a bible I simply couldn't turn down and still get a free doughnut at an AA meeting Tuesday when my special needs dog with feelings so familiar keeps eating my DVDs and shitting inside even though he's been house trained for years and the only class I've got today is math. It's horrifying options to the point like I'd rather take a 20 story swan dive than stay up here and burn alive just trying to write anymore. I wish I was A different kind of idiot and only cared about getting high and laid today. But on another day, the last one, I want you to re read this essay and hopefully say you did something right....
Written by johnrot
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