(no subject)
It's always a good feeling to think. I think.
After a long while, the paper's still got corner's and edges, and the circle remains depraved and roll-y.
Life's sort of like the grain in wood; one cannot expect to follow a predetermined path or parallel others. Straight isn't even an option, so forget about it.
Close your eyes for a day, and truly enjoy your slice of the world's pie.
Which reminds me, sometimes I'd much rather be blind than have the full function of my shallow sense. If we couldn't see the media, if the "ugly" couldn't be hand-picked and branded, I know that I, personally, as much as it pains me to say it, would rather be blind. Ha. Post-17 and some years, I've got a enough visual memories to guide a lifetime.
Thirteen Going on Thirty is a good film.
Love is a quick midget clown motherfucker that runs around a rodeo and hogties you profusely.
I'm going to attempt to construct a meaningful paragraph using snippets from songs:
"I'll tell you the things that this man has felt: Black water and a feast in the summer, still laughing with my hair all around, one day when the beats slowed down. Shines of hard life on the raincoats of our passengers. Adhere my confidence, and make me satiable. Lost; I've heard footsteps overhead, and my thoughts return again. I need to see your face to keep me sane- to keep me whole. Find yourself a backdoor. That is your privilege."
We must admit we know nothing before we can know anything.
I'm not relaxed enough to derive anything not meretricious.