More than forgetting myself, sometimes I become completely aware of my environment. I like to go outside at night, lay down on the floor, close my eyes and let myself melt into the environment. I let the wind caress me, I only feel the air in my lungs, the swaying of the trees, and the thick, opaque darkness that weighs down upon my chest. I feel everything except my thoughts. I read somewhere that at least 100 lightning bolts hit the ground every second, somewhere on earth. I try to feel those to, the electricity running through my body, the moistness of the ground seeping through my shirt, the waves of wind that gently roll over my still corpse. I am aware of both everything and nothing, I am a part of the universe.

A Fantasy

   It was 8:30 AM on Monday January 20th when everything snapped. My math teacher was scolding me for the umpteenth time because I was late, when I realized I had had enough. Maybe it was because I was forced to learn about something I honestly had no interest in at the crack of dawn, maybe it was just the build - up of doing the exact same thing everyday for 11 years. All I knew was that I had to get out of there fast.

I slowly stood up, and walked towards the first open window on the far right corner of the room. I looked my teacher dead in the eyes, and said, "You know Ma'am, even though I've had the pleasure of living the dullest moments of my life with you, I just want you to know that I won't miss you," and turning towards my classmates, " or any of you. So long suckers." And then I jumped out of the fenestra of my prison. 

There was a slight breeze outside, it caressed my face, congratulating me. The day was mine, I had one the war. I hitchhiked home with a women who sold me a box of frozen lasagna. I left a note on the kitchen table for my mother:

Dearest Creator, 

I am leaving. I've had enough. I'm sorry I am letting you down like this, but we all knew it was inevitable. I love you .Whether it be tomorrow or in 10 years, I just want you to know that I will return one day. Until that day, so long.

Your only daughter, 

Nebila

P.S. Do not try to call the police, your attempts to catch me will only be futile.

I stuffed a few pieces of clothing and some books into a knapsack and slung it onto my shoulders. It was now time to decide where to go.
I could go to New Zealand, find a suitable cave, and live there till I became a wizard.
I could take a boat to South America, learn how to play the accordion, and live the life of a travelling storyteller.
I could buy a horse, teach it how to fly, and live in the clouds.
I could - "Class is over, please don't forget to do pages 145 to 146 for tomorrow. Have a nice day class, don't forget to push your chairs in."

 "Do you ever get frightened by the systems upon systems that we keep on working on into each other? Does it ever bother you? The feeling that you'll never be free, that you'll always be a prisoner?"
This is a question that the ZBS foundation interviewer asked Syd Barrett in a 1967 interview.
For the past few years there has been a slug living in my chest. This slug is cold, moist, and grows bigger and bigger every passing day. Until I watched this interview, I always thought that it just had to do with my hatred for school, that it would pass after I graduated. It is only after I heard this question that I realized that it is not school itself that I dislike, but being a prisoner. I've realized I am tied to a chain of systems, once I leave one, another one follows. There is no escape. After I graduate I will only be thrown into another cell, this one painted with the colors of freedom, but with four iron walls of responsibility and restriction. The slug knew all of this, but what just waiting until I realized before he took hold of my body. I am now one big slug, slithering along, mindlessly leaving traces here and there, waiting for the day someone decides to sprinkle me with salt.

Creativity

I think that we are all like a patch of dirt. Any seed that you plant when the soil is fertile enough will grow with the right amount of sun and water. We have the potential to be anything, all we need are the right circumstances. The school system rids this soil of water, it allows it to dry out. It makes it so that only few students come out with their creative passions intact.
I'm aware that I constantly complain about school, but I can't help feeling like we're all being forced to fit into a small jar and then be happy.

Something I wrote on the bus.

In a city that no one ever visits there is a bus. Inside there are 2 people. Of these two people one is a woman (Marianne), the other a man (Leonard). In the second row on the seat facing the window sits Marianne. She is a cashier at a mini-mart. Her biggest ambition in life is to earn enough money to be happy. Her favorite food is mashed potatoes with a hint of gravy.
Leonard is a bus driver. He lives alone. His biggest ambition in life is not to die alone. He likes being a bus driver because he is surrounded by people all day. His favorite food is lasagna.
Leonard is happy today because there is a beautiful woman on his bus. He constantly glances through the mirror to see if she is looking at him, but she never is.
Marianne is jealous of her bus driver. Whenever she looks at him, he is happy. She wishes he would stop whistling because all it does is make her feel sad.
He is imagining them together, her in his arms. Leonard knows God is a sadist because he creates women like Marianne and puts them on his bus.
Suddenly they lock eyes. Marianne stands up -Leonard's heart skips a beat- and gets off.
He whispers, "so long", as she steps off and thinks about her for the rest of his shift.
Marianne notices nothing and thinks nothing other than one day being happy.
Leonard goes home early to heat himself up some frozen lasagna.
Marianne comes home late and only has time for a cigarette.