2001-05-18

Tonight has had one of those storms that poets dream of writing during. One of those storms that lovers move to the rhythm of for the best memories of thier lives. I am a dreamer, so I spend this time dreaming of being that lover or poet, or both. I am niether, although there are a few morons who would say I am a poet. Sometimes I almost believe them. Then I look at Byron, Keats, Wordsworth (very underated), Browning, Elliot, or Craddock, and I know that I am not a poet...yet. Hell even Crowley was a better poet than I am, at least in technical terms, and I hate his poetry.

I'm musing on the fact that only a shallow person who pretends to be intellectual could say that only shallow people know themselves. An intellectual would state that he/she didn't know if shallow people or anyone knows themselves, or whether or not they themselves were shallow. I don't claim to be a real intellectual, but I know enough of them well enough to know what they would say. They tend to be vauge about this sort of thing. If they were exisistentialist intellectuals they would state that they doubted whether anyone was shallow or intellectual at all, but I really don't like those people. Unless it's Steven Wright...but he's funny about it.

~MattMagus

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