Only feels official today even though the written examinations finished a week ago

I don't know how it happened, but I am positive that within the last thirteen weeks I have come to realize things about myself more than I ever did in the last ten years, things I can't quite put a finger on, things I rather not specify in cheapened text so they would always remain beautiful and unmarred by opinions I don't need to hear, because my limited vocabulary can never do justice the experience and connection I am finding and I don't need to be left wondering why I am bothering, struggling even, to explain. And I am genuinely tired of being spoken to like I owe someone an explanation for existing.

It feels like I combusted internally or something, or I woke up one day, and I just knew. Fog dissolving, vision coming into focus, footsteps firmer, surer, words escaping me more assertively than I remembered them to be when I played them out in my mind, thoughts previously dismissed and shelved away dug up again, this time fresh, raw, sharp, and they match, they match what I'm thinking and doing and saying now when the only reason they were dismissed and shelved away before was because I thought they belonged to the "old me", but there really is no old me, I was always this.

And even now as I type and attempt to compose my feeble disorganized thought into some form of a coherent sequence of the written word, I am continuing to discover things about myself faster than I can write them down, struggling to keep up with fleeting images and trying to figure out the significance they bear with my life. There is only such a thin line between productive self-discovery and a mere, worthless disassembly of meaninglessly random prose.

Words are missiles that explode in your somatic being -- Jeremy Fernando

The number of consecutive days we spent in school for 3D class still frightens me a little I think I've really had quite enough of people showing up like styrofoam just exploded in their face for the week

"Colorless green ideas sleep furiously" -- Noam Chomsky

"Part of what draws readers to literary nonsense is the overwhelming human desire to find meaning, anywhere and everywhere and where perhaps none exists. Others may argue that this description and analysis itself is proof that there is actually meaning -- that is, sense -- in works of nonsense."

"Pure gibberish, such as "Sluggahbooh chgilapdknnftifg gahgahgah axxyt ipipi fgsfds" may qualify as nonsense in the dictionary definition, but in terms of nonsense art, it is low on the scale. This is so mainly because such a statement does not exhibit the kind of balance needed to make good nonsense that challenges us to play with meanings. This statement has very little semantic, syntactic, phonetic or contextual meaning, though of course no statement can be completely without meaning. In other words, there is not enough sense here for it to be nonsense."

Tangentially related, disorganized thought that immediately comes to mind:

The Dada movement

Performance art

4'33", the silent orchestra
"... It was composed in 1952 for any instrument (or combination of instruments), and the score instructs the performer not to play the instrument during the entire duration of the piece throughout the three movements."
Video

JPod by Douglas Coupland
"... The 41 pages spent listing digits of pi, for example, were found by many to be pointless and, as Patrick Ness noted, “lazily assembled”. ..."
"... an obvious and sort of sad attempt to turn [himself] into a cultural icon ..."

Waiting for Godot by Samuel Beckett

Absurdist fiction

AAAAAAAAA!

"House worm foot-long twenty-two" -- Mervyn, on how his lecturer attempts to explain the concept of syntax in computing

"So this is art"

When does it cross the line
When does it cross the line

Only feels official today even though the written examinations finished a week ago

I don't know how it happened, but I am positive that within the last thirteen weeks I have come to realize things about myself more than I ever did in the last ten years, things I can't quite put a finger on, things I rather not specify in cheapened text so they would always remain beautiful and unmarred by opinions I don't need to hear, because my limited vocabulary can never do justice the experience and connection I am finding and I don't need to be left wondering why I am bothering, struggling even, to explain. And I am genuinely tired of being spoken to like I owe someone an explanation for existing.

It feels like I combusted internally or something, or I woke up one day, and I just knew. Fog dissolving, vision coming into focus, footsteps firmer, surer, words escaping me more assertively than I remembered them to be when I played them out in my mind, thoughts previously dismissed and shelved away dug up again, this time fresh, raw, sharp, and they match, they match what I'm thinking and doing and saying now when the only reason they were dismissed and shelved away before was because I thought they belonged to the "old me", but there really is no old me, I was always this.

And even now as I type and attempt to compose my feeble disorganized thought into some form of a coherent sequence of the written word, I am continuing to discover things about myself faster than I can write them down, struggling to keep up with fleeting images and trying to figure out the significance they bear with my life. There is only such a thin line between productive self-discovery and a mere, worthless disassembly of meaninglessly random prose.

Words are missiles that explode in your somatic being -- Jeremy Fernando

The number of consecutive days we spent in school for 3D class still frightens me a little I think I've really had quite enough of people showing up like styrofoam just exploded in their face for the week

"Colorless green ideas sleep furiously" -- Noam Chomsky

"Part of what draws readers to literary nonsense is the overwhelming human desire to find meaning, anywhere and everywhere and where perhaps none exists. Others may argue that this description and analysis itself is proof that there is actually meaning -- that is, sense -- in works of nonsense."

"Pure gibberish, such as "Sluggahbooh chgilapdknnftifg gahgahgah axxyt ipipi fgsfds" may qualify as nonsense in the dictionary definition, but in terms of nonsense art, it is low on the scale. This is so mainly because such a statement does not exhibit the kind of balance needed to make good nonsense that challenges us to play with meanings. This statement has very little semantic, syntactic, phonetic or contextual meaning, though of course no statement can be completely without meaning. In other words, there is not enough sense here for it to be nonsense."

Tangentially related, disorganized thought that immediately comes to mind:

The Dada movement

Performance art

4'33", the silent orchestra
"... It was composed in 1952 for any instrument (or combination of instruments), and the score instructs the performer not to play the instrument during the entire duration of the piece throughout the three movements."
Video

JPod by Douglas Coupland
"... The 41 pages spent listing digits of pi, for example, were found by many to be pointless and, as Patrick Ness noted, “lazily assembled”. ..."
"... an obvious and sort of sad attempt to turn [himself] into a cultural icon ..."

Waiting for Godot by Samuel Beckett

Absurdist fiction

AAAAAAAAA!

"House worm foot-long twenty-two" -- Mervyn, on how his lecturer attempts to explain the concept of syntax in computing

"So this is art"

When does it cross the line
When does it cross the line