know me by heart.
i am sad.
my d key is having some issues, so i was sa for a bit, too.
i've been thinking alot and you know what they say:
introspection makes the heart grow fonder.
or maybe it's something more along the lines of either feeling like eating, or not eating anything(zenzen tabemasen), reviewing the facts and watching movies of lovers torn asunder by war and intrigue and thinking about how it was probably nicer then, the boys went away and if they came back (survival of the fittest?) they would marry you and then the suburbs and the american dream and suddenly it is now and uncertain. nobody writes letters anymore (letters only get burned). in the hierarchy of action, i suppose it goes something like spoken words, letters, flowers, songs, gesture, grand gesture, desperate gesture, suicide. the skill lies then, in figuring out where you need to be. nobody has ever written to me, except once in the second grade we made penpals with a nearby elderly community, the woman wrote to me and asked me to call her grandma dorothy, but i got busy and when i responded the letter was returned to me stamped deceased. i got a note, a shadow of an intention addressed to me, jotted down while i walked down the stairs while you were in the elevator coming up. it seemed silly then to turn around, perhaps it was a neighbor then, but now it wasn't. i am not meant to step backwards.
i hate waiting. i am familiar with uncertainty, but to tell the truth- if Schrödinger never opens the box to feed the cat, then it is really just a different kind of dead.
my d key is having some issues, so i was sa for a bit, too.
i've been thinking alot and you know what they say:
introspection makes the heart grow fonder.
or maybe it's something more along the lines of either feeling like eating, or not eating anything(zenzen tabemasen), reviewing the facts and watching movies of lovers torn asunder by war and intrigue and thinking about how it was probably nicer then, the boys went away and if they came back (survival of the fittest?) they would marry you and then the suburbs and the american dream and suddenly it is now and uncertain. nobody writes letters anymore (letters only get burned). in the hierarchy of action, i suppose it goes something like spoken words, letters, flowers, songs, gesture, grand gesture, desperate gesture, suicide. the skill lies then, in figuring out where you need to be. nobody has ever written to me, except once in the second grade we made penpals with a nearby elderly community, the woman wrote to me and asked me to call her grandma dorothy, but i got busy and when i responded the letter was returned to me stamped deceased. i got a note, a shadow of an intention addressed to me, jotted down while i walked down the stairs while you were in the elevator coming up. it seemed silly then to turn around, perhaps it was a neighbor then, but now it wasn't. i am not meant to step backwards.
i hate waiting. i am familiar with uncertainty, but to tell the truth- if Schrödinger never opens the box to feed the cat, then it is really just a different kind of dead.