July 2008
13 posts
It’s a very strange and disconcerting feeling.
To wake up and look at your life as an outsider and think, “this is my life. how did I get here?”
And to the truth is, I don’t know.
Just because I’m questioning it doesn’t mean I’m unhappy with it. It’s just strange to survey this somewhat foreign life I’ve created for myself, and then compare...
Here is a glimpse of my personality. And yes, I use quotes instead of words from my own head. And yes, it’s a defense mechanism designed to keep people at arm’s length. But. These quotes…feel like they could have come directly from me, if that’s any consolation.
On life:‘Imagination is not an empirical or super added power of consciousness, it is the whole of...
I am in a weird, bad place right now.
A few (less cryptic) notes:
Goddamn I miss majoring in philosophy. If only because it required me to read nothing but philosophy books 24/7. Which to a lot of people would be hell. To me, it feels like a part of me is lacking without the constant (intelligent, rational) questioning.
Men, even smart, intelligent and/or brilliant ones, prefer simple bitches. This gets a big fuck you. And this is...
FUCK this day.
Life is all about figuring out how to reconcile conflicting and/or opposite desires.
I’m failing miserably at this.
Ani DiFranco and (old) PJ Harvey help make monotonous work days not so dreadful.
Oh, and this:
“I love you, but I love me more.”
Word is bond, yo.
“The Waste Land
I. THE BURIAL OF THE DEAD
APRIL is the cruellest month,...”
– http://www.bartleby.com/201/1.html
Once you’ve cried over someone enough, it’s hard not to come to resent him. If anything, the resentment stems from the exorbitant amount of work your tear ducts have seen since childhood.
I feel so young, so inexperienced in most ways, except when it comes to men and relationships. And when it comes to men and relationships, I feel old, tired, cynical and despondent.
The way I decide if I like a piece of art is by staring at it to determine if I want to get lost within it.
Lately, I’ve been drawn to photography, especially black and whites of inanimate objects.
For the wall. I’d put it up high.
It’s so much easier to want to quit the life you have in your hand, rather than trying for it. It meaning? Everything.
In weak moments, I want to quit. But the feeling of defeatism ultimately subsides.
On an unrelated note, I have officially fallen out of love with my house. Too many reasons to name, but the one that keeps tapping me on the shoulder is the ever present flickering of...
I can see the finish line.
