the ones who are mad to live

On the Road.  Jack Kerouac.  Dang.

Getting back into the swing of things feels good.  I like the familiar sounds of excited screaming and muffled bass outside my dorm room window.  I like getting delicious delicious coffee at the Pit Stop Cafe.  I like the smell of the library.  I like seeing all of the people I missed far too much through the break.  I like playing Beatles Rock Band like it's going out of style.

Because the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars.