"that is the best present i have ever heard of."
my mom cares so much about the plants in her garden, the flowers, that she goes outside on days that are really hot and puts up beach umbrellas over flowers that "arent too happy with the heat."
i hope someday i will hold her endless compassion for plants and animals, although i have strongly felt my purpose as being to help people instead. so, if i never have her touch with "sad plants," that will be fine, as long as i love lots of children.
jean cocteau, who lived in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, stated that good art, good film, good writing, is all simply this: like an object that is hard to pick up. in not knowing how to hold it, one picks it up, and thinks about it, again and again. this will lengthen the life of the art, since it is being thought about, which i suppose is what keeps art alive. since it will be forever mystifying, in this way art could become immortal. a nice thought.
(this is also the man who did a whole collection of faceless self portraits, and films in french with such titles as "blood of the poet." a full man, i do believe)
"blankies anyways" said catie. "i wanna be you when i grow up" (vince, my new best friend who lives close).
i can't wait for everybody to get home. its like my summer is going and going, but unconsiously waiting on tierra's smile. or cupcakes with jess. or, stargazing, with you. and maayan, eating with maayan. although he won't be home until september, but, a girl can always dream, can't she?
at least i can nuggle (without the s) under stars in blankets. as i said, "love fests cannot just happen with anybody." so thank you.
let me tell you, it dont mean a thing if it aint got that swing. that much is certain.
i hope someday i will hold her endless compassion for plants and animals, although i have strongly felt my purpose as being to help people instead. so, if i never have her touch with "sad plants," that will be fine, as long as i love lots of children.
jean cocteau, who lived in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, stated that good art, good film, good writing, is all simply this: like an object that is hard to pick up. in not knowing how to hold it, one picks it up, and thinks about it, again and again. this will lengthen the life of the art, since it is being thought about, which i suppose is what keeps art alive. since it will be forever mystifying, in this way art could become immortal. a nice thought.
(this is also the man who did a whole collection of faceless self portraits, and films in french with such titles as "blood of the poet." a full man, i do believe)
"blankies anyways" said catie. "i wanna be you when i grow up" (vince, my new best friend who lives close).
i can't wait for everybody to get home. its like my summer is going and going, but unconsiously waiting on tierra's smile. or cupcakes with jess. or, stargazing, with you. and maayan, eating with maayan. although he won't be home until september, but, a girl can always dream, can't she?
at least i can nuggle (without the s) under stars in blankets. as i said, "love fests cannot just happen with anybody." so thank you.
let me tell you, it dont mean a thing if it aint got that swing. that much is certain.