below is 4:55 am. i am starting a surgery rotation. i will edit the flesh, remove the commas, end with periods. i am beginning in obstetrics. i feel born again.
i am unsure how much i will write, even when i do. what i am talking about when i am talking about about is no more than another minute, now 4:56, and i will be late.
they will look at me, tsk. they will say i should’ve known better. they will send me above.
below was what was, but now it is now, and i am working in silicon valley, and i feel soft, not like light, like leaking, like all that was lost in a fire, in the burning that starts in every winter where even the warmth is dangerous for look, alive, roaring, consuming the yolk, it is light after all.
after, they will say it was arson, but what kids did you have, kacper?
below is what this blog was when it knew what it was and now i’ve grown knowing i don’t know and i comfort myself with this in far too much poetry and far too few poems. it doesn’t make sense. poetry doesn’t make much sense to me. i hope when i am tired and dried and a little bit more died too that i figure out what it is all about, come back here, and finally understand what it means to understand. then, i’ll write something. just something. it is the best i got, and the worst thing about that is that it may not be better than this.
Below below is what this blog was about in second year of University. I have since grown through and in a few thousand of words, and I’m starting to think that the blog is about learning how to stop growing. I write only to capture glimpsed moments of my thoughts at a certain time. I then read it all back one day, and experience what it was like to be me way back when. Most days, I almost forget.
It is also an internal struggle about becoming what I hate and scratching my head as to how I got here. I’m too young to be old. And worse yet: I’m too old to be young.
This blog is about everything. Too bland? Unlikely. If I specified anything, then I’d fail to realize that anything is part of everything. So let’s just say this is about everything.
Or would that be simply too easy of an answer? At the current moment, this blog is used for my cerebral musings in literary form. It has become a medium for the greater expression of art that is literature, whatever the heck that means.
It may mean anything: from love, to lions, to little, lonely you. But whatever it means, only a human would contrive such drivel and expect someone to understand it. What are we? Gods? No, even though we sometimes feel like it. Asteroids? We crash, but the commonality burns up there. Instead, we are monkeys. Not fallen angels. Not mud-covered slugs. Just sapient beings stuck somewhere in between the two.
And here, a monkey types symbols only other monkeys recognize. If I chose to say, “OOOOOuuuhhhaahahah OUUUahahHHHAAAAA HUUHH” would that make any sense? I hope not. I was, in monkey speak of course, illustrating to my less chimpanzee colleagues that I am writing for humanity. Believe it. A boatload of monkeys wouldn’t give two hoots about what I’m saying. Only you and I would. So let’s go bananas over something.
That’s where the blog comes in. I will hopefully write stories, essays, and some pieces in between that deal with issues that make humanity go bananas. Or at least, make me go bananas. So on this blog, I write to humans weekly and biweekly in the summer. Some spamming robots would be nice to write to as well. That being noted, I would like to say that I like to write. So this blog exists. I also like to eat. I have yet to make a blog for that. One day, one day my friends. Until then,