What are those called? The little saucers, almost tea pot-ish things that you use to pour milk out of? Or sugar? Some type of liquid I'm sure ( Read more... )

I. Journals are fascinating things with their own lives; they grow from our strangely worded thoughts, take their first breath with our scribbled words and then grow, slowly with other people's comments, with pictures, & exist in a realm that I can't quite touch or belong to ( Read more... )

Sometimes, things are romantic even without the pretense of romantic. Few things in my life seem to be on the same wavelength as romanticism, more in the vein of comedy with some self-imposed tragedy. But somethings seemed to be lifted from a novel (maybe this is the result of a love-affair with books, you become fond of meaningful and poignant ( Read more... )

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You are tired,
(I think)
Of the always puzzle of living and doing;
And so am I.


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"There are nearly thirteen million people in the world. None of those people is an extra. They're all the leads of their own stories."
I see the slow mundanity of my life: the silences that I enjoy in the car, the repeats of hw, sleep, food, the awkward conversations with no end or beginning but those that fade into emptiness, and I wonder "what am ( Read more... )

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on psyche & cupid:

"You know, there's a reason why feminists are so angry all the time. I mean, roman mythology? Fricking Cupid is going to shoot Psyche because his mom told him to. What a momma's boy. Plus, he then tells her parents to drop her off of a cliff for god's sakes and like KIDNAPS HER and RAPES HER and then KNOCKS HER UP. And then, he ( Read more... )