Poetry time. It's sprining up around Portland like a mofo. I went straight to the library as the sun shone down and I checked out a hefty stack of books, mostly by Allen Ginsberg or Neal Cassady. Nothing like the season to put my mind right in action this way.

I hope my plan doesn't backfire. I've been so busy trying to be "legit"... 40 hours, school, proper diet, regular eating and sleeping routines and all. Reading books by those notorious souls, self annointed and publicly confirmed as crazies always makes me want to take off my "respectable costume" of clean clothes and a freshly shaved face and go be a traveling crazy myself. To fly like a wandering crow, instead of a busy bee of the hive.

It's a bad habit to compare yourself to other people, but when I let my mind wander for even ten minutes, I look at the people around me, especially my own generation, with a thinly veiled sense of disturbed concern. What are they thinking about? What's going on in their heads? I can't believe what they listen to on the radio. I can't believe the things they say, the things they do. They say that my generation is one of the most conservative the country has seen in quite some time. I certainly believe it. I wonder where all these kids are going? Don't they worry about always accepting the status quo? After the nineties, I thought that the counterculture was really going mainstream. Blue hair dye, pierced lips, tattoos. We were going to be the change in the world. And we were going to do it, too, with wild style! Now I feel like image is totally meaningless, and those with heart are in the real minority. The problem is that these people are invisible. They could dress like a freak, or they could be "undercover". There is no standard for passing anymore. There is no way to know, not until it's too late.... or unless it's right on time.

Maybe that's just me growing up a little, by being burned a few times and also by learning that just because you wear nice clothes doesn't make you circumspect. This may sound weird, but for a long time I had a profound disrespect/distrust for people that wore suits (Reinforced no doubt by a virulent reaction towards my native and former Mormonism and corporate culture in general.). Now I see that I was wrong, and I have also seen kids that wore almost the exact same "punk rock outfit" as me turn out to be the most despicable humans imaginable. There's no way to judge a book by it's cover.

That being said, to the kids that never wonder why, I have this to say: I still feel that I might be a weirdo, but you're a fucking sucker.