i know absolutely nothing about either of these people who may or may not be real
greetings everyone. i have returned from beyond the grave of a myspace addiction to be blasé to you all again.
So we were having a bad day. The sun was wobbly as it rose in the sky, and the birds couldn't seem to chirp in tune. the worst of it was the dread though: the dread that only comes from that feeling of entrapment. you know what that is. it's what happens when you're on a sailboat, on a day without enough wind, and suddenly the fortuitous breeze that's been pushing you along drops out. you nudge the tiller, push it again, a bit more violently, but this gets you nowhere. the land is looking awfully far off.... that's now.
the weekend was decaying fast. yesterday had had its ups and downs, but the guiding principle was decidedly a downer. the earth man turned the day green, but all that wind left the day shiftless, with the afternoon dripping away like sand through an hourglass. i took a nap in the grass. it was my first time in the back yard since my last nap there, the day of spring break. this time i tried to relax in the tall, green grass, but that patch felt miniscule as i tried to fit myself into it. the stubby, browning grass proved the wider constituent of the lawn. That was the day: the Earth Man made it green, with his midi-reggae and his voice that made you feel like a little kid capable of running away and living in the woods, but living at home made it brown. physics paper 3's and inscrutable textbooks made it brown. visiting a car dealership, the pinnacle of consumerism, made it very brown. bicycling through suburban streets to a desert pineland made it very brown.
Sonia Flew. Cuba is the rock and Minneapolis is the sole. The army is the boot and the Peace Corps is the toe. Old men go to New York to report on the Theater, always capitalized that, because it's an Art Form that touches all the masses where people can masquerade and use funny voices, but no one is fooled. Talk about bee-effell, Blind Fucking Luck! I ran into an old friend there. He couldn't wait to tell me all about his life in New York, what a sucker if I ever saw one! He loved my hair, too -- fancy that. I think more people should be like that, leaving Miami for New York. It seems that's what the old ones tend to do. This play was atrocious! but all that mattered none when I caught the pretty girl's eye, sigh! She had a blue flower in her hair...
Try to imagine, if you can, a metaphor without meaning. Now stick it in the fourth paragraph. The writer's about to finish up, he's already overstayed his welcome in your mental space. Full of witty facts and interesting quotations, he's a welcomed guest without any concept of welcome. He mopes, he sits, he convinces himself he's doing nothing wrong. He pines for something sugary, he's a bowl of fruit, a tall portrait, maybe a landscape. He's not a Miró or a Picasso; maybe a Gallerani to his own Da Vinci, if he gets his way. This needs to be taken the wrong way.
The highlight of his day was driving to Publix, buying two cases of soda, a 20 oz bottle, & Cinnamon Imperials for $8.42 of his own hard-earned money, and sitting in a park occasionally looking up from schoolwork to wonder whether those two people frollicking and making out in the grass were really both men. It was soon no mystery: they were, and he felt bad staring.
Last night, he saw the biggest pair of forehead-dwelling caterpillars on an old man in a bright orange vest. Those plays attract some freaks.
this won't sound as good on a monday.
i feel i oughta mention this here, but i'll keep it beneath the cut. in case you all are interested, i have decided to go to Haverford College next fall, and now i'm glad not to have to think about it for a while. i haven't the drive to upload the pictures i took while visiting there, but if anyone is interested in seeing it, i recall that Justin posted pictures of it last spring when he decided to attend there, so you could google livejournal.com for that.
So we were having a bad day. The sun was wobbly as it rose in the sky, and the birds couldn't seem to chirp in tune. the worst of it was the dread though: the dread that only comes from that feeling of entrapment. you know what that is. it's what happens when you're on a sailboat, on a day without enough wind, and suddenly the fortuitous breeze that's been pushing you along drops out. you nudge the tiller, push it again, a bit more violently, but this gets you nowhere. the land is looking awfully far off.... that's now.
the weekend was decaying fast. yesterday had had its ups and downs, but the guiding principle was decidedly a downer. the earth man turned the day green, but all that wind left the day shiftless, with the afternoon dripping away like sand through an hourglass. i took a nap in the grass. it was my first time in the back yard since my last nap there, the day of spring break. this time i tried to relax in the tall, green grass, but that patch felt miniscule as i tried to fit myself into it. the stubby, browning grass proved the wider constituent of the lawn. That was the day: the Earth Man made it green, with his midi-reggae and his voice that made you feel like a little kid capable of running away and living in the woods, but living at home made it brown. physics paper 3's and inscrutable textbooks made it brown. visiting a car dealership, the pinnacle of consumerism, made it very brown. bicycling through suburban streets to a desert pineland made it very brown.
Sonia Flew. Cuba is the rock and Minneapolis is the sole. The army is the boot and the Peace Corps is the toe. Old men go to New York to report on the Theater, always capitalized that, because it's an Art Form that touches all the masses where people can masquerade and use funny voices, but no one is fooled. Talk about bee-effell, Blind Fucking Luck! I ran into an old friend there. He couldn't wait to tell me all about his life in New York, what a sucker if I ever saw one! He loved my hair, too -- fancy that. I think more people should be like that, leaving Miami for New York. It seems that's what the old ones tend to do. This play was atrocious! but all that mattered none when I caught the pretty girl's eye, sigh! She had a blue flower in her hair...
Try to imagine, if you can, a metaphor without meaning. Now stick it in the fourth paragraph. The writer's about to finish up, he's already overstayed his welcome in your mental space. Full of witty facts and interesting quotations, he's a welcomed guest without any concept of welcome. He mopes, he sits, he convinces himself he's doing nothing wrong. He pines for something sugary, he's a bowl of fruit, a tall portrait, maybe a landscape. He's not a Miró or a Picasso; maybe a Gallerani to his own Da Vinci, if he gets his way. This needs to be taken the wrong way.
The highlight of his day was driving to Publix, buying two cases of soda, a 20 oz bottle, & Cinnamon Imperials for $8.42 of his own hard-earned money, and sitting in a park occasionally looking up from schoolwork to wonder whether those two people frollicking and making out in the grass were really both men. It was soon no mystery: they were, and he felt bad staring.
Last night, he saw the biggest pair of forehead-dwelling caterpillars on an old man in a bright orange vest. Those plays attract some freaks.
this won't sound as good on a monday.
i feel i oughta mention this here, but i'll keep it beneath the cut. in case you all are interested, i have decided to go to Haverford College next fall, and now i'm glad not to have to think about it for a while. i haven't the drive to upload the pictures i took while visiting there, but if anyone is interested in seeing it, i recall that Justin posted pictures of it last spring when he decided to attend there, so you could google livejournal.com for that.