College, college, college. The whole WORLD depends on my college. My life depends on the college because without a college I am not living. It's hard. The whole focus of my existence seems to be on getting into a college. But after I get in, then what? I don't know and it scares me. This aspect of the american life sucks.



Staring at the same canvas for an hour doesn’t change

The fact that cubism makes no sense.

I mean, what is it supposed to be?

The sign on whitewashed panels of the artist’s mind

Says that this atrocious whirlwind of color is life.

But all I see are twisted angles of money-hungry con man’s painting hand.

This isn’t art! It’s arsenic by ton

Poured into the soup of rich Uncle Creativity

Portraying what? What does that dot explain?

That human race is lonely in the world

Or did the million-dollar artist splash by accident his canvas?

It forces me to think but rarely of existence of our people.

No, I only wonder about who would call this art?

Who prompted the movement of blinded mass of critics?

Because in every way you twist it, this canvas isn’t artist’s soul.