what the previous post was supposed to say:

though us quiet voices endlessly dream of happier times and artistic visions, eloquent poetry and eloquent prose, blackbrown pottery with tiny googly eyes, walks down haight and getting looks saying "you're that ARTIST!!!"

while
all the time
a part of me would like to:

fuck the chain of command
cut my hair, keep it stylish
work on my body
kiss with the classic smile
constant ecstasy and alcohol
to be someone,
CELEBRITY
and fucking dance all night long

(hollywood)