I don't understand, why I'm still wearing pants.
This might be one of the most uncomfortable chairs I have ever had in my entire life. It seems comfortable at first, then you notice is wiggly ways. The way it bends and tilts. So sensitive!
I'm listening to Aesop Rock, deciding if I like it or not. Waiting for a connection to happen.
Goddam the trees are pretty. We went to the park this afternoon, Steve, Jim, Evan and I. We blazed in a patch of leaves, played frisbee for five minutes. It was windy, and none of us were throwing that straight. We had some swing time, tried to give each other underdogs but failed. Was it easier when we were smaller? Anyway. Walking back home, admiring the trees with oohs and 'look!'s and emphatic, loving cursing, I thought about this time of year when we all admire this beautiful death. In a non-idealized light, really, the leaves are slowly becoming diseased and falling dead, filling the streets where we walk. I ran with that thought and considered the park as a giant cemetery of dead leaves we were tossing around. Frolicking in. Leave it to me to humanize things and push some weird human attribute to nature, making it seem twisted. I didn't feel negatively about it. I actually though it was funny. Especially when it hit me right after I exclaimed "That yellow tree looks like gold!". Suddenly the yellow tree and it's orange neighbour looked like diseased outcasts amongst their healthy green-leafed brothers and sisters.
But it's lovely! If the trees went through some kind of pain, that would be a different story. But they don't, as far as I know. We get to watch the brilliant final chapter of life, going down in a blaze of golden, orange, fiery red glory.
I'm listening to Aesop Rock, deciding if I like it or not. Waiting for a connection to happen.
Goddam the trees are pretty. We went to the park this afternoon, Steve, Jim, Evan and I. We blazed in a patch of leaves, played frisbee for five minutes. It was windy, and none of us were throwing that straight. We had some swing time, tried to give each other underdogs but failed. Was it easier when we were smaller? Anyway. Walking back home, admiring the trees with oohs and 'look!'s and emphatic, loving cursing, I thought about this time of year when we all admire this beautiful death. In a non-idealized light, really, the leaves are slowly becoming diseased and falling dead, filling the streets where we walk. I ran with that thought and considered the park as a giant cemetery of dead leaves we were tossing around. Frolicking in. Leave it to me to humanize things and push some weird human attribute to nature, making it seem twisted. I didn't feel negatively about it. I actually though it was funny. Especially when it hit me right after I exclaimed "That yellow tree looks like gold!". Suddenly the yellow tree and it's orange neighbour looked like diseased outcasts amongst their healthy green-leafed brothers and sisters.
But it's lovely! If the trees went through some kind of pain, that would be a different story. But they don't, as far as I know. We get to watch the brilliant final chapter of life, going down in a blaze of golden, orange, fiery red glory.