Day 15.

Hey hey so after MUCH ANGST and procrastination, CSSSA* app is in, not postmarked on the right date but in nonetheless.

*arty camp i applied to in 9th grade and got rejected but i applied again because i never learn! also i have backup plans. :D

So.

Part A. (SOOO PRETENTIOUS YOU GUYS. Forgive meh.)

I read because others have said it better and always will. I write because I need creation. But I want more-- want immersion in it. I want to make sense. I want to expand my words from the confines of my journal, i want to think about what I want to say before I say it, I want to consider carefully, thoughtfully.

But no, that's all a lie.

I want to take leaps of sentences. I want to jump off the cliff of a paragraph.

I am Whitman's contradictions, I am Salinger clinging onto his words, hiding them because the risk was to hurt. But I'm ready for upfront writing. Face to face. Characters like a slap in the face driven by love. I am, as Vonnegut would have agreed, whoever I pretend to be-- whoever I write.

I am looking for ways to turn restlessness into relatability.

I am looking for Neruda's oceans, thick with meaning, heavy with salt, frothy with joy.

I am looking for the myths of Neil Gaiman, laced with mead and time.

I am looking for e. e. cumming's unrestrained teenage soul, leaking letters, spare thoughts, typing how his thoughts traveled

down

the

page.

I am looking to learn more than mimicry, less than not sounding ridiculous, no more and no less than writing, pure and complex.