polyphony.

. . .

i don't know what i came here to write about.
i had the intention of doing something profound with this entry, but it's all managed to leave me.
but i feel like i need to write, so forgive me if i'm reaching for straws.

i've been extremely stressed the past few days. i wake up and go to sleep with headaches, i sleep off and on thruout the day... i'm getting more lazy as time passes. i don't know what to do.

i'm trying to find somesort of motivation- i'm not even sure when i lost my last source of motivation, but it was somewhere around may, maybe. maybe even june. i've been on this terrible downhill trend that i'm scared will carry over into the school semester.

on top of that, i'm questioning myself at every turn. i hate every rhyme i write, which is actually nothing new, but i also am grappling with self doubt.

'what if i'm not cut out for this shit?'

it may seem as if it's not a big deal, or, rather, that it shouldn't be a big deal. but it is. i've unwittingly based all forethought around the idea of making music for a living. then i think about school and the fact that i have to pay up for it soon, and i'm broke as fuck. i think to myself i'll never make it to pratt.

then i'm like, what am i trying to get to nyc for? theoretically, i'm gonna go up there, somehow survive living in brooklyn as a full time student who gets good grades, while still finding time to find my niche on the music scene with something creative and new, something people wanna hear, something i'll feel good putting out.

c'mon man.

i'ma have to be in like 5 places at the same time. 2 of them will have to be jobs. and i'm going to have to posess unnatural amounts of patience. that's an issue, seeing as how i'm unnaturally lacking in that department at the moment.

i think about all that, and i say to myself, who the fuck are you kidding?

i'm just scared. i'm all out of creativity. it comes and goes faster than i can make something worthwhile with it. the terrible part is, i'm spending ALL my time 'making beats', 'writing rhymes', trying to figure out how make it all work. i'm not getting anywhere with it and its the only thing i fucking do. the expense of time isn't matching the results.

life is hard, man. especially when you have expectations of it. especially when you see the glamorous iceberg tips of other peoples' lives. you hang out, go to a club and have a drink, and there are beautiful people there. they have flawless skin and good jobs and they have a nice home to go to after the night is over...

i'm just wondering how i'ma get where i want to be. i'm not good at anything, besides telling folks how i'ma get good, or what i'll be good at... and like i said before, i'm feeling the pressure of being an adult very strongly. my parents are unapologetically absent from pretty much everything i involve myself with, and rightly so. it's all my responsibility now. i accept that, but i'm feeling like i don't know how to do it right.

and, damn if i'm not sick and tired of having these entries, at least once a year, i'm at a period where everything is gray and bad.

*sigh*

anyway.
i'd like a nice, round breast with a nice brown nipple somewhere in the vicinity of my mouth.
i just saw the arissa pictoral and i'm remembering things. cravings and such.
bad.

is that too much to ask?