Crack
I'm really not tired of this blog.
I want so much to write at the time, I'm back in one of these phases, exceed the ideas in which the motivation in size and scope and I prefer 'Write' would telepathically, without the annoying use of pen and paper or keyboard. Everything is completely out of order, politics, philosophy, music, art, animals, food, life, whatever. Thinking about the time after school. The constant conflict between anger, love and longing, politics, music and travel. I do not know what will prevail, and that bugs me, because I want to plan the future.
The retching here at home is no help, and there never was one. Next week I take off for a few days, according to Henry Kiel to see it become like would be if I had gone away, even in the summer of Plön. The lab calls and I'm looking forward to the time in this extremely stuffy two-room shack in the city, without school pressures, growing eye or other limitations. I'm looking forward to the night tours, the spraying, the container, the music, the cold, the people. I'm looking forward to jam to cook, do and be what the hell I want, without having to bahalten some shit in the back of the head.
I rarely had the prevailing situation richer than now. I've sent in my application for jobs in order to have the afternoon to do what, to the evening concerts to visit. To save coal, so that I can disappear in summer 2010 pack my things and go.
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