The Act of Academics
I sit scribbling, hour by hour in a succession of days which seems
only to open the jaws of boredom and stress.
Yet I must scribble on.
Never must I cease else the enemy will take hold of me and never again shall I see the academic light of day, or night, I can't tell anymore.
The only pauses which break the bonds of this eternal sound of pencil touching paper are the moments of staring into the oblivion of the human mind which, to an outside, inexperienced individual would seem to be a moment of deep thoughtbut is in reality the imagining of the unorganized, glorious, yet almost sinful act which is to the human mind, unconsciousness.
This act can take time which none can waste and must sit scribbling once again, never ceasing until the paper has concluded and one must take the second, no that in itself is too long, the fraction of a second to decide to start a new sheet of yearning white paper which asks only to be given lead leading it to a black and graceless world, or to give the current sheet more agony and turn face and write where only on the other side I have scribbled words which please only those who would serve to judge my accomplishments.