.guy is holding hands with girl as they stroll on beach.
girl: i've never had this much fun on a first date
girl:did you just fart?
guy: no, i think i stepped on a duck
-wide shot: duck running away, seriously hurt.
the entire world is being erased by snow, one cold-hearted molecule at a time. the world is coming to an end! the stars are falling all around, turned to embers and ash, and no one is making eye contact until they're forced to run for shelter in the warmth of central heating and the indoors. i really would like to be a sarcastic asshole today, but i'm in too strange of a philosophical mood. recognize!
being an existentialist can be either a) the most comforting thing in the world, or b) absolutely terrifying. i like to think that it is both sometimes, but that's just because i thrive on ambivalence. people, for example. my favorites are the ones who have so many levels it baffles my mind trying to figure every angle into clarity...except it never fully happens because they're never fully finished. you can be an asshole and i'll still adore you just as much! in fact, it's likely. as long as you make me realize big bloody-bodied truths and notice tiny infintessimally small details and really understand that you're being geniune. this is crucial.
Cuz I have had something to prove | As long as I know something | That needs improvement
And you know that everytime I move | I make a woman's movement
And first you decide what you've gotta do | Then you go out and do it
And maybe the most that we can do | Is just to see eachother through it
We make our own gravity | To give weight to things | Then things fall and they break
And gravity sings
i miss my classes.
what?! who does that?!
apparently, i do. call me sentimental, call me a loser, call me what you will. i've enjoyed the people who have surrounded me this semester. maybe it's a sort of bittersweet affection in some cases, especially when in conjunction with the grueling, grating, obnoxiously difficult work that is involved in class, but as i have a tendency to become attached to places when i find a sense of solidarity and connection, that's whats up. to my writing class...thank you for being a friend to my mind. toni morrison was speaking of something totally different when she coined that phrase, but it's really what the class has been to me. not to mention that so many of you are sooo talented i feel like a failing amateur in comparison, or that you've given me some of the greatest compliments of my entire existence, but really...its that i can see bits of myself in all of you and i really crave that. this weird haven of self-criticism and terror and amusement and ridiculousness and infatuation and identity, that only really comes when you find people together who have a surreal sort of similarity haunting their staggering differences. i hope we keep some semblance of that...but even if we don't, we'll all be able to go read each other's sh*t when it's published, eh?
[sh*t being censored because it isn't actually shitty. i refer to it as such because the connotation of that word in this particular context embodies so much more than anything else ever could. talk about a contradiction in the pervertation of the english language...i also happen to believe that fuck really is one of the most versatile words available to our tongues. i adore that word.]
ILS...i've really already discussed the very twisted way we became a group (bonding over the most ridiculous amount of studying and mind boggling information ever is rather masochistic.) but i'll miss that too. i'll miss the class as well, even if allen is a pretentious asshole. but as i mentioned earlier, i usually end up loving assholes. hating, yes...but the love is more important. the entire history of the universe according to...fair trade coffee and tapestries? i guess so. we don't know exactly what we were supposed to take out of it...but i think that's ok. existentialism and solidarity! woo.
history discussion is a bunch of crazy people talking about huge ideas that have eaten the life out of society and are threatening to eat us for dinner and spit us all out in a pile of ravaged trash and apathetic bull. we refuse! and while we're doing it, we'll make all the pop culture references and go on as many tangents as possible.
hot raspberryrum chocolate
the raspy quality of the british voice when speaking of grave things
a new ladies' man, and consequentially, colin mortensen
buttons and home-made holiday cards
dirty blue shoes
radiohead song titles
wretched little heathens. buggers, all they'll eat is spaghettios. i'm trying to save their souls, but they just won't have it.