It’s night, and a gentle song begins on my bedside speaker. Until this point, I’d always wondered who’d be the first to hear this song with me. Whose breath I’d feel on my body as the melody got lost in the darkness along with our inhibitions. It wasn’t a song I’d been saving, only one I never had the chance to share until I found myself here, exploring the open fields and windswept mountains and towns in between.
Fresh toffee on a Saturday morning. #feelsgoodman
The stars are clear out here. A train runs through the centre a few times a day, blaring a horn as a warning to people who may be going from building to building by crossing the tracks. It’s a tiny village in a snowglobe, only the snow hasn’t come.
I haven’t been around this many people in years. I’ve long wondered what it’d be like to live this life one more time. To have rituals and theatre plans and regular friends. None of this is real, of course, but I don’t mind pretending if only for a little while.
Girlcave. Fucking awesome.
Vibrato does not a singer make.
I find myself resigned to someone’s care. It’s not an easy kind of control to relinquish, but lately I trust as little as possible in the future and do my best to go along for the ride. As the old poem goes; be wise, strain the wine, or as Zorba would put it, “DON’T BE DELICATE”. I didn’t plan on living forever anyway.
On a cold night, we keep the only promise made, one of those small wonders that still make me believe. I fit somewhere between needs and wants, temporary relief and long-term side effects, class and homework, nibbled lips and bitten tongues.
There’s something very scary about “juice” you can buy today that won’t go bad until next year.
I can’t be the only person who thinks Scribblenauts was a great concept that was very, very poorly executed. #thisgamesucks
I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the whole “If it’s yellow, let it mellow” thing.
The fall is holding out against the winter, trees clutching bright leaves before the chill breaks their grips. It’s wonderfully warm among such colours, and we walk in the valleys of Appalachia to take in the smell of mountain air as rustic hands around us work livestock and soil. In old Aramaic, Damascus means “a well-watered place”, a fitting name as the rain soon grows too heavy to be exploring the tiny town, population 981.
Or the fact that I missed hanging out with @bonkandbeans, who tells me everyone got a free copy of Stranger Music in class tonight.
But it still didn’t make up for the fact that I had to miss my first lecture of “Leonard Cohen: The Early Rise of the Romantic Troubadour”.
The last thing I expected tonight was meeting Barbara Kingsolver, which is the first time I’ve ever met the author of a book I’ve read.
Ah, the token Asian guy who doesn’t get the white girl.
Watching Twilight. Why? So I can see Breaking Dawn in theatres when it comes out next week and understand what’s happening. For serious.
Does this mean I have some kind of reputation? http://t.co/95fyAZwu