tangability... is that so hard?

I have decided. He was just warming my hands. I vasselate.. I spell things wrong. But I know, this is true. He was warming my hands. and that may be all. The fuss I made over a man warming my hands.

I am just about finished with White Oleander. It occures to me that it parallels the way I feel about art right now. That its validity, for me, cannot stand up to the pain and emotion of humanity. In the wwf ring, humanity wins over art everyday of the week. And I think that's ok. That I have to believe that today. Because, for me the art I tried. The failure tasted too bad for me to try it. And I prefer to live than too discuss living. Yes. That is it. Too many bad teenage poems. Too many wanna-be-artist/philosphers dates.

From now on I long to feel the world. To reach out every moment and grasp onto something that is so real that I can feel it pulse. That is what I hope for.

tangability... is that so hard?