Don't end, begin

"One night, man awoke and saw himself." -Zapffe
I've been through more than a few abandoned moleskins that I'm ready for something less committing. When I check facebook daily and have the desire to disable the account and suspend my relationship with the internet fairyland, I figure it's safe enough to put a thought here and there on fucking blogspot. No one checks this shit anyway, the personal blog fad has passed and become tumblr (everything's a copy of a copy of a copy of a copy of a copy &etc>> REBLOG) Screw that.
I found an interesting concept today, some newly coined DIY term- Biopunk. There's becoming a whole world of people fending for their lives more and more, and making medical laboratories in their kitchens, testing for pregnancy with homemade equipment. Homegrown botany, medical style. I'm really digging Barnes and Nobles nowadays, and with a new library card, I'm even less worried.
I really think I put my life on hold this summer. But the world just sort of kept going, and now it's two weeks until I'm officially smack in senior year at Park and I'm petrified. I have to go back there to those people who I have nothing less to impress with, all my tools are gone and only my raw antics are there to work with. I am looking forward to AP Calculus, some Statistics self-catered projects, Physics with Herman, and even thesis. I just am ready to learn again. With mentors this time. I've learned so much this summer but there's nothing like the pleasure of a good teacher to learn with. I guess I really just talk a whole lot of bullshit out of my mouth nowadays, but no one else seems to legitimately think so. At least those whose opinions matter... I want to get my life back together. There's nothing like a drunken Keybank parking garage roof to empty Mohawk place venue conversation on the value of art at it's core essentials till 5 am, only to bike back to Kenmore tired as all hell. Those are adventures, those are authentic experiences. But you loose yourself at sixteen when that's every day. Not that it really ever has been. I'm just reaching that point. The time of my fucking sixteen year old life. I wrote a list of things I have to get done. I think I took on the sailor's tongue as a   mechanism to combat my daily frustrations. Maybe I've found my place as some kid of the black hole, but the void accounts for the absence of the void.
I'm done being profound pointlessly. When every word is meant to carry with me to the next day and on and after that. You leave the beautiful woman at the river, because the point was to preserve the purity in that passing, and the next day, she might not be a beautiful woman. And her dress could get wet, because that woman could've gotten across the river without you.
Does a dog have Buddha nature? "Mu." Because a dog doesn't know that it exists.
List of shit I have to accomplish: artwork for O'Malley, read Zakaria's Post American World, read and write on Atwood's the Penelopiad, study the Odyssey, write Common app essays, get basic college premise information done, prepare some extent of my thesis shit, get into driver's ed program, get working papers, clean room, get school supplies together, pierce septum, develop roll of film, make some cash, fucking etc.