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Archive for April, 2012

The truth of it is – we’re in love now. We think it’s charming to be jaded, and someday we’ll apologize to one another and touch each other.

We’ll look back together and laugh at how stupid we were to run away. And the strangest thing is that I can see it happening right now and I won’t do a thing to stop it and that’s considered normal.

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In the end, whether it is heard or not, you will be happier for it.

Things change, reverse, come back round. We grow, diminish, find ourselves returning.

I promise you, you will probably never feel lower than I have felt. If you can smile, and carry on, you will feel so incredibly strong sometime soon.

David Bowie famously wrote in Five YearsYou’re Not Alone.

You’re not. And as long as I – tired, despondent, and thoroughly weird am here – you won’t be.

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I couldn’t tell you
if I am supposed to be
this guy or that guy.

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“See, friendship is the booze they feed ya. They want you to get drunk on feeling like you belong… because they make you feel cool! And hey – I met you. You are not cool.”

– Lester Bangs (Almost Famous, 2000)

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A girl rode past me today on a bike.

She was in the street.
And I was on the sidewalk.

And it occurred to me
that
my entire life could
be
encapsulated in those
moments.

Somewhere
a beautiful
creature
is always
riding
somewhere.

With handlebars
and
underwear
and
maybe even
lips.

They have
not
and will
not
ever find
me.

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I was never very good at telling people how much I like them.

Even now, though I see people around me who constantly fascinate me in their looks (and sometimes their hearts) I’m still not that exceptional at telling them what I think is true –

That most often I’m awed by their beauty.

I made it a tiny mission of sorts after NFA to tell more people how pretty they are. I am not, as I tend to remind myself, blessed with the virtue of being pretty. I like to think of myself as a very good appreciator.

In a more beautiful world I would photograph pretty things and show them off. Even now, in writing, I make worlds out of words and fashion them into birds – things that take flight out of thin air.

The only thing I’ve ever really wanted is to talk about beautiful things.

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My best relationships with teachers have actually only rarely been when we’ve shared similar ideas regarding life, art, or laughter.

My favorite teachers have been those who, in discrete moments, have tossed out a favorite book by a little-known author who has long since died. Having tracked down the book, and becoming privy to their secret world, is perhaps the greatest kinship I can imagine.

We do not discuss these books at length. This is, of course, our private bond. But few things could be more sacred than the passage of knowledge.

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