(no subject)
one new pillow can upset the chemistry of a bed, my bed.
there is a difference between filling silence and actually talking. i don't think you know me, or have any desire to know me. i think you're content with my surface. i think you're content with simply enjoying my company. which i suppose shouldn't bother me, as i really have no desire to let you know me. i feel nothing of any consequence towards you.
and it bothers me.
this whole string of encounters, of perpetual small talk, of physicality but not of affection, reeks of adolescence only.
ALSO: an interesting dilemma:
Hank- You can't rewrite. See, to rewrite is to deceive, to lie. You betray your own thought. To rethink the flow, the rhythm, the tumbling out of the words, is a betrayal. It's a sin.
Martin- I don't agree with your catholic assessment of my necesity to compulsively rewrite every single word a hundred times. It's Guilt, see. Guilt. Not sin. Guilt that I'm not writing the best that I can. Not considering the work from every possible angle. Not balancing everything.
Hank- Well how about guilt that you're censoring your best thoughts. Your most honest, primitive, real thoughts? Because that's what your laborious rewriting amounts to, Martin.
Martin- Is editing really censorship, Bill? Because if it is, I'm fucked.
there is a difference between filling silence and actually talking. i don't think you know me, or have any desire to know me. i think you're content with my surface. i think you're content with simply enjoying my company. which i suppose shouldn't bother me, as i really have no desire to let you know me. i feel nothing of any consequence towards you.
and it bothers me.
this whole string of encounters, of perpetual small talk, of physicality but not of affection, reeks of adolescence only.
ALSO: an interesting dilemma:
Hank- You can't rewrite. See, to rewrite is to deceive, to lie. You betray your own thought. To rethink the flow, the rhythm, the tumbling out of the words, is a betrayal. It's a sin.
Martin- I don't agree with your catholic assessment of my necesity to compulsively rewrite every single word a hundred times. It's Guilt, see. Guilt. Not sin. Guilt that I'm not writing the best that I can. Not considering the work from every possible angle. Not balancing everything.
Hank- Well how about guilt that you're censoring your best thoughts. Your most honest, primitive, real thoughts? Because that's what your laborious rewriting amounts to, Martin.
Martin- Is editing really censorship, Bill? Because if it is, I'm fucked.