She gracefully flew through the sunset perching on a thin wobbly branch.  Up-and-down she went as her weight lifted and pushed down on the arms of this little baby shrub.  Oh my little baby bird, on my little baby tree, how young are they and they are younger than me.  I do not crave for youth.  Why should I? 
    As young as I am now I wish I were older but I know that wish will come upon me quicker than I know.  It seemed just a little while ago that I JUST turned 25 and wrote that Triond article.  Now I am a third of a year closer to 26.  I try to make every day productive by either writing a few thousand words a day in my Journal.  Or to read a little.  I try to make myself a better writer but feel like I have failed tremendously for I have been writing a journal since 2002 and although I like it, nobody else who is important does.  I can’t have people read it because I talk bad about them in it.  It could be funny if they found I gossiped about them, except that these people are my family and I am stuck with them for life so I do not want to jeopardize anything.  But when I think about quitting writing, and if I am to believe the person who said one is said to be an expert by the end of ten years of doing something, I do not feel like a master of writing at all and so not worthy of the profession.  But if I were to live and write longer, much longer than ten years, then perhaps I will be able to write decently in say, fifty years.  I guess it’ll just take longer for me.
    Being called “pathetic,” or rather my WORK as pathetic is well, daunting.  But when I think how little I honor my own opinion while in the midst of others, for I quickly am swayed, I think, this person has an opinion just like I do.  And if my opinion does not matter, why should his?  So now I feel better.  And will write more things that suck.
    What is this about?  I quickly lose track of what I write.  How can one NOT know how to write a free flow of thoughts in prose?  Isn’t it just typing out your thoughts as they come?  Stream of consciousness?  I don’t mind my randomness.  If I did I’d drive myself crazy because I do it all the time.  I don’t think I know how to NOT write like this.  Unless I am writing an erotica story.  But no I probably do this there too.  I love writing erotica because it is the only thing that I am interested in writing right now.  No, that isn’t true.
    I also like writing about high-minded things like nobleness and excellence.  But…well I am neither.  I like to think I am, but I am not.  Why?  Because I like talking about rape and decadence.  I like thinking about mistresses, divorce, and adultery.  I like the thought that marriage should be banned and we should have more than one partner because it is just not true that you have one soul mate.  We have a myriad of them.  I love more than one person.  How am I expected to choose?  I want to have sex with more than one of them because I love both, and if I am married in a monogamous relationship, and we live in a puritan nation that looks down upon having a mistress, then how am I supposed to…concubate…hahahha.  How am I supposed to…intertwine?  To mesh?  To bond with both of them?
    Wow I am listening to Christmas music (John Williams’ Home Alone “Somewhere In My Memory”) and it is actually around Christmas!  I listen to it throughout the year to get me in the cheery snowy mood.  I think about the Christmas tree lights at my old Bible Institute’s cafeteria during blue air time when it is getting dark, or lighter.  It is such a sad moment of beauty.  The constant yellow lights are my favorite, not the moving ones or colorful ones.  No I prefer the Plumeria flower said my teacher.  The rose is too flowery and sophisticated.  She dressed plainly, hung around a plain person who said I need to “learn to give and serve” in my Bible at the back of the book.  All the teachers wrote in there, along with BJ my security guard friend.  She said to write to her.  I don’t and never did.  How sad…but I guess like other people think of me, I am a friend of convenience…only to be acquainted when it is convenient.
    Suddenly while listening to this beautiful song it makes me want to be sad-happy.  I HATE that feeling!  I feel like crying because “oh it is just so beautiful!”  It is like CMON!  I don’t want to be THAT way!  I want to be stone-like in quality.  Composed and authoritative and charming all at the same time.  I would ultimately like the image of a Philosophy professor or Bible Scholar, but well, I am not a Christian FULLY for I am part Atheist…so that might not work.  And also I just hate the school system.  There should be teachers for hire to be my private tutor.  Then I’d have to find a way to steal some money from someone to pay for it.
    I LOVE love love love my pocket-sized dictionary and thesaurus!  They’re so yummy!  I made a pretty fantastic game in my view…of looking up a word I like, and then looking up all the definitions of all those words within the first word, and going on and on, and then creating your own puzzle with all the concepts you’re given in a bank or whatever.  Shut up.  So, I shared my “Chaos” poem to people at my Barnes and Noble Fiction Writing Group, and they said nothing.  They didn’t like it I guess, because the first time I went I read a erotic story and everyone was talking.  But I said it was all from the dictionary and not from me and I guess they like more personal stuff with some warmth and flesh in it instead of cardboard concepts from the dictionary.