our gravitational fields are almost touching

so not that long ago pete told me about a guy who told him that “inspiration is for amateurs.” i don’t think this was just any guy who said this. i think he was a good artist-type guy. [this paragraph is about art. the inspiration thing is about art.] i agreed i guess. art takes work, right? isn’t that why i am in graduate school? isn’t that how great people become great? but recently i’ve been saying this over and over again in my head: “maybe inspiration is for amateurs but what about psychotic obsession?” i want this to sound funny instead of creepy because i am worried that what forces me to write stories and poems and screen print and sew murdered stuffed animals and things like that is psychotic obsession. i don’t think it is a desire to make the world more beautiful or anything nice. i like to act like i want world peace or something and i want to achieve it through writing. really though i think i am psychotically obsessed. with a variety of things. certain people. the weirdness of my face. painting blood on cuteness. wearing dresses and pants at the same time. the color blue. writing in this blog. poems involving oral sex. footnotes.

one of my uncle mikes made a shirt for my grandma joan that says, “i hope my obsession can overcome my brain-damage.” at least i think that is what it says. i keep thinking about that too.

i can feel my psychotic obsession in my elbows right now.

next thing.

this is a picture of a guy in my poetry class. on his shirt is a cat with a helmet made out of an orange peel. it’s from that ‘stuff on my cat’ website. i lied to him and told him that i wanted a picture of it so i could send it to my “one friend who loves that website.” one friend? come on! who DOESN’T love that website? (i’ve never actually seen it myself so maybe me.) also i didn’t want to be like, “hey guy with the tough tattoos whose name i don’t actually know and who is so cool he chews tobacco during class breaks instead of smoking cigarettes with the teacher and all the poet-y poets. yes, you. can i take a picture of you with my CELL PHONE so i can post it on my BLOG because i don’t know,it seems a little funny?” i might as well have asked him if he wanted to go with me to ashlee simpson concert.

anyway, i’m sure there are some ethical issues surrounding posting people’s pictures on the internet without their consent. after last week though, i’m over ethics. and also, do the cats on the cat website give their consent? i doubt it. so maybe i’m doing this for the cats who are publicly humiliated with orange peel helmets and then probably never see a cent of the profits from the t-shirt. i’m changing what i said earlier. i’m back into ethics. this catsploitation has to stop! that’s why i’m posting this picture. send me some money–hey, i’ll make shirts of this guy and his shirt– and then i’ll bring the money to poetry next week and say to mystery-name guy, “look at all the money i made off of you. you can’t have it. how does that feel, mister? well, now you know how the cats feel.”

do you think it is possible to over-use the phrase “green green grass”? i wonder if i put it in all my poems if anyone will notice.

i hope my psychotic obsession will start manifesting itself as genius soon. otherwise i’m joining the writing staff of the chicken soup for the soul series. i’ve got some really cute anecdotes and comics saved up about craziness and unprovoked anger. do they have that one yet, chicken soup for crazy and angry?

my elbows feel a little better.

the end.