(no subject)
I know Garret Maki’s laughing already. That’s probably why I love him so much.
In Media Res - I think that’s what he announced it to be. This is always the most difficult part of any sort of writing, the commencement. And even this much of a commencement exemplifies a disclaimer that I’ll come short of startling any pair of eyes; this is probably nothing new. I have thoughts and probably too many of them and it’s a shame that I, in all honesty, feel my expressions, especially those manifested textually, are disdained upon in comparison to the words I orchestrate through my nodes, through out the day. No specifics, but just a compilation of a week’s realizations and a desire to denounce, because it’s been a rather harsh, with a rather sense of satisfaction extricated, set of seven days with Dramamine and Rob’s Alien on repeat.
You can come get your things today; I have your jacket, your watch and your DVD.
I will.
Are you sure we can do this in your car?
I smoke at work all of the time in my car.
I’m fortunate to be the candidate for such bestowments; such as ones of companions that never fall short of instilling laughter and a sense of contempt I can radiate to matriculate any tears I have a tendency of producing, into covert ones, while: cat-eyes produce migraines I ignore; terabytes are temporarily non-existent to my comprehension; the music doesn’t comes short of enabling the extinction of these comprehensions; cannabis routes to my ventricles; and Amanda Shaper holds out a grocery bag of articles that summarize October through January. I’m an ugly person. God didn’t bestow me with this ability on the ride back home. I realized, in a way that I can’t explain, that even though I never was in love with Amanda, that I do love her and realize that an unpredictable time from now, I’ll flash back the memory of her face, falsifying her colors, looking down to her own right side with her hand out. It’ll probably occur during some consummation, or some morning in bed, or some time that allows me to make a slight reflection; it’ll occur in a way that will compensate for the absence of my companions’ blessings of laughter and I’ll acknowledge my father’s Hispanic wisdom, a sense instilled at an age of loss and poverty, a wisdom whose acknowledgment can be measured exponentially each day of my life. From there, I’ll draw to the even more self-considered to-be drastic, consensus, whose tantalization of my temperaments, like time, is one whose perpetuity, as long as I may exist, or at least exist with this perspective on my existence, I wish nothing more to seize. This consensus will be the one brings me to the realization that Amanda was a girl, who was a significant figure in the array of articles that my life is comprised of; a girl who I gave a season to and a girl with whom the hours I spent laying with will never deteriorate in sentimental sense. In between the cigarettes laid through out the recent days and the contemplations that are dragged out with, as if they were a necessity, I come to the recognition of the forming season and displayed is a matrix of my moods. There stands a man whose life I wish I led; one whose life is absent of all articulations that seem to bring to my cognitions the realization of the imperfections that make me sense the way I sense about my life; alibi and condemnation approved by one single fact: his smile and the joy it radiates is true. Something I’ve felt myself recently lacking the ability to construct. And there he is again, existing as someone who’s exempt of all temperaments and dermatologic impurities that seem to make a person imperfect. Then I stop to wonder if I seem to contemplate the possibility of being an object of his for the day and that perhaps he seems to decipher some sort of beauty or intricacy in the way that I move my broom across the restaurant floor; maybe then I instill some realization in him regarding his fast-lived life and I make overt some regressed apprehension. In summation, because I could go on for quite a bit longer, I miss more and more everyday: the sense of contempt my life use to abide by; my family’s ability to understand me; my old friends; an immeasurable number of other things and Paige.
In Media Res - I think that’s what he announced it to be. This is always the most difficult part of any sort of writing, the commencement. And even this much of a commencement exemplifies a disclaimer that I’ll come short of startling any pair of eyes; this is probably nothing new. I have thoughts and probably too many of them and it’s a shame that I, in all honesty, feel my expressions, especially those manifested textually, are disdained upon in comparison to the words I orchestrate through my nodes, through out the day. No specifics, but just a compilation of a week’s realizations and a desire to denounce, because it’s been a rather harsh, with a rather sense of satisfaction extricated, set of seven days with Dramamine and Rob’s Alien on repeat.
You can come get your things today; I have your jacket, your watch and your DVD.
I will.
Are you sure we can do this in your car?
I smoke at work all of the time in my car.
I’m fortunate to be the candidate for such bestowments; such as ones of companions that never fall short of instilling laughter and a sense of contempt I can radiate to matriculate any tears I have a tendency of producing, into covert ones, while: cat-eyes produce migraines I ignore; terabytes are temporarily non-existent to my comprehension; the music doesn’t comes short of enabling the extinction of these comprehensions; cannabis routes to my ventricles; and Amanda Shaper holds out a grocery bag of articles that summarize October through January. I’m an ugly person. God didn’t bestow me with this ability on the ride back home. I realized, in a way that I can’t explain, that even though I never was in love with Amanda, that I do love her and realize that an unpredictable time from now, I’ll flash back the memory of her face, falsifying her colors, looking down to her own right side with her hand out. It’ll probably occur during some consummation, or some morning in bed, or some time that allows me to make a slight reflection; it’ll occur in a way that will compensate for the absence of my companions’ blessings of laughter and I’ll acknowledge my father’s Hispanic wisdom, a sense instilled at an age of loss and poverty, a wisdom whose acknowledgment can be measured exponentially each day of my life. From there, I’ll draw to the even more self-considered to-be drastic, consensus, whose tantalization of my temperaments, like time, is one whose perpetuity, as long as I may exist, or at least exist with this perspective on my existence, I wish nothing more to seize. This consensus will be the one brings me to the realization that Amanda was a girl, who was a significant figure in the array of articles that my life is comprised of; a girl who I gave a season to and a girl with whom the hours I spent laying with will never deteriorate in sentimental sense. In between the cigarettes laid through out the recent days and the contemplations that are dragged out with, as if they were a necessity, I come to the recognition of the forming season and displayed is a matrix of my moods. There stands a man whose life I wish I led; one whose life is absent of all articulations that seem to bring to my cognitions the realization of the imperfections that make me sense the way I sense about my life; alibi and condemnation approved by one single fact: his smile and the joy it radiates is true. Something I’ve felt myself recently lacking the ability to construct. And there he is again, existing as someone who’s exempt of all temperaments and dermatologic impurities that seem to make a person imperfect. Then I stop to wonder if I seem to contemplate the possibility of being an object of his for the day and that perhaps he seems to decipher some sort of beauty or intricacy in the way that I move my broom across the restaurant floor; maybe then I instill some realization in him regarding his fast-lived life and I make overt some regressed apprehension. In summation, because I could go on for quite a bit longer, I miss more and more everyday: the sense of contempt my life use to abide by; my family’s ability to understand me; my old friends; an immeasurable number of other things and Paige.