"ethiopioia"
what if after you died, you weren't a) doomed to eternal hellfire and feedings of swedish meatballs and white grape juice, or b) floating aimlessly around the universe wearing bedsheets and beaded sandals (as vastly belived), but instead, your body stays wherever it is forever, and the profile of your face is etched in the paint of my dorm bathroom's floor in the middle stall forever and ever? i swear it's true. i just saw the profile of a man in the 1800's carefully cut out in chipped paint.
anyway, i hate how when things happen you don't think much of them, but afterward when you smell the familiar smell of something unnameable (like clay, thanksgiving food, and vanilla wrapped up in one), you automatically miss whatever the situation was. honestly, i didn't enjoy being in georgia all of those winters against my will. as much as i don't like to admit it, i would have much rathered been sitting at home in wellington, florida rotting away in a parking lot or something. but just now in the department of communications while i sat there taking a survey for research credit, i somehow got a whiff of my uncle's house in georgia and i wished that i was back there.
sometimes i stupidly wish nostalgia didn't exist, but i know that i really don't. it's too good. and too bad. don't ever wish that you could go back to something, it will never be the same. just appreciate that it happened and think of it like a memorial in your brain for a really good state of mind that you were in. i don't like not expecting change in things that i depend on to remain constant. it happens far too often and all i really want is to stop napping all the time and having dreams that set the tone for my bad moods. lately i've learned the value of being by myself a little bit more. i'd still like to own phil elvrum's brain in a jar.
"i'll not contain you
i won't look for you in my own room
through lengthy talks i'll not contain you
through climbing arms i'll reach my loft
through rotting skin i'll leave my coffin
through calloused work i will grow soft"
sleep well, and i mean that.
anyway, i hate how when things happen you don't think much of them, but afterward when you smell the familiar smell of something unnameable (like clay, thanksgiving food, and vanilla wrapped up in one), you automatically miss whatever the situation was. honestly, i didn't enjoy being in georgia all of those winters against my will. as much as i don't like to admit it, i would have much rathered been sitting at home in wellington, florida rotting away in a parking lot or something. but just now in the department of communications while i sat there taking a survey for research credit, i somehow got a whiff of my uncle's house in georgia and i wished that i was back there.
sometimes i stupidly wish nostalgia didn't exist, but i know that i really don't. it's too good. and too bad. don't ever wish that you could go back to something, it will never be the same. just appreciate that it happened and think of it like a memorial in your brain for a really good state of mind that you were in. i don't like not expecting change in things that i depend on to remain constant. it happens far too often and all i really want is to stop napping all the time and having dreams that set the tone for my bad moods. lately i've learned the value of being by myself a little bit more. i'd still like to own phil elvrum's brain in a jar.
"i'll not contain you
i won't look for you in my own room
through lengthy talks i'll not contain you
through climbing arms i'll reach my loft
through rotting skin i'll leave my coffin
through calloused work i will grow soft"
sleep well, and i mean that.