i wonder why starving oneself fills the inner void that is my own starved soul. weird. starve one thing and another fills up with abundance.

isn't college supposed to inspire you? what about education? and yet while i'm in school my creativity is little to none. sara teasdale this, ezra pound that, walt whitman, amy lowell, ginsberg, keats, yeats.. music is a way to sleep, not to draw from my heart; even portishead is a lullaby.

(by the way, you're disgusting. don't look at me that way. don't hit on my friends when they clearly don't even remotely like you.)

why is it impossible to find ANYTHING on sara teasdale? and is it possible to completely disappear? a sunny day real estate cd, a cup of hot tea, and the open road? recipe for a beautiful disaster.