Megalomania is watching a man with a brain in a jar court a woman who laughs like a mule, and believing that it’s the story of one’s life. Weakness is losing a thought to a pretty face. Concupiscence is the interpretation of awkward roughhousing as a prelude to fucking. Jealousy is wondering why one never had the same opportunity, and acceptance is realizing that one did.

In the end, it’s not the situations we relate to, it’s the hopelessness of being stuck with the decisions we make. Of being caught between the risk of settling, and the fear of not doing any better.

Happiness is freedom from both.

(This took four months to write)

I was kicking back on the couch with John
with the lights out and the music on.

Wut wut.

Anyway, we were stoned out of our skulls and it was Naked As We Came by Iron And Wine. We sat there, listening to the dulcet notes of a lone guitar lead into Sam Beam’s sugary voice, soon to be gently rounded off by his sister, Sara, as the harmony. A summer-morning-during-harvest song, or dancing in the middle of a cool rainfall.

She says ‘If I leave before you darling
don’t you waste me in the ground’
I lay smiling like our sleeping children
one of us will die inside these arms

Eyes wide open
naked as we came
one will spread our
ashes round the yard

And we sat there, listening, remarking to each other about how morbid it all was, yet so beautiful.

Even John was moved, but how could he not be? One of them would die but there was solice in the fact that it would be in the embrace of the other, as if neither one would want to die any other way, doing anything else.

And it felt like, for the first time in my life, John could understand a completely different side of me.

Do you remember your first time?

It was her first time too. Her face contorted, a regretfully painful look, but quickly relaxed as her eyes rolled back. You were scared when she bled, but she begged not to stop. How strange it was to be so close to someone, so face-to-face. You thought you knew what intimacy was, until you were inside her and kissing her lips simultaneously. Shhhhh, they’re right underneath us. You never imagined it’d feel so hot.

Do you remember her first time? It was safe because her sister was busy enough with her own boyfriend. You went beneath her skirt, recalling how distracting such a simple piece of pleated, plaid material could be when walking behind her in the hall. She made no sound, and you began to doubt whether she was comfortable anymore.

Do you remember her first time? It was at the end of summer, when the days were getting shorter. You had the windows open, and wafting through the room was the smell of healthy trees and sunset air. Even though the breeze was cool and dry, she was hot and sweating against you on her brother’s bed. You were listening for the swing and slam of the back screen-door, but all you were thinking about was how good it felt to finally touch her bare, sticky skin. There was no nervousness anymore. She trusted you with devotion, as you guided her through her blossoming sexuality.

Do you remember her first time? It was your first time too. You had always wanted to save this for marriage, but you were both caught in the moment, and her dirty mouth wouldn’t stop prodding you. She once told you how she had always imagined being tied up, someone taking this from her by force. It was too late now, and she wanted this as much as you did. Her screams were almost rudely loud in your ear, but there was indication of pain in her voice. Afterward, she had take a moment to collect herself before she could speak, making a remark about how comforting it was to still feel you inside her.

They say that we always remember our first time.

But do they remember you?

And so, the weekend had to come to an end. It was great to get away, and refreshing to hang out with some decent people. Adam most of all, who renews my ever waning faith in humanity every time I see him. I had a few songs in mind for the video, but the first song I thought of, and the one I eventually used, is by The Postal Service. Before I started editing, I could only recall the first few bars, but I knew that those notes would be able to perfectly define the feeling I wanted. Funny that it happens to be named There’s Never Enough Time. There are so many things I could say, but the videos say it all.

One of the best things about the farm is that it’s a farm. There are the two large and loyal dogs, Willow and Atka. There’s the chirpy housecat, Femo, who likes to twist and turn her body for one to scratch. There are cows, who can jump really high if frightened.

Aside from the animals, there are all other sorts of little things that make the farm rustic and differentiate it from the city life I’m so used to living. It’s not every place that I’ll find random 12-guage shotgun shells on a cabinet, or piles of firewood that are bigger than my house. It really makes me feel like I’m away; away from computers, school, work, or traffic.

I’ll end off with a shot of the inscription on Eric’s flask.

Here’s to them.

I’ve tried many times to capture the actual size of Dolly’s current girth, but the camera doesn’t really do a good job of it. I figured that the only way to accurately show how large she’s gotten is with stereoscopic images. That way, one can actually tell how much Dolly is coming off the couch with a bit of depth perception. It’s never easy to take stereoscopic pictures of a cat. Usually they’ll move or twitch when the alternating photo is being taken, so it almost always has to be done while they’re asleep. Even a twitch of the camera strap, or a shuffling of feet will be enough to pique the curiosity of a cat

Dolly’s head looks small in comparison to the rest of her body, but her head is actually normal for a cat her age, and it’s her pot belly that’s grown out of proportion. Every time someone comes over, I usually get a comment on how much she’s grown. Outward.