Posts tagged text.
stand is how
you said i was
too good for you
but then took some
one elses hand because
isnt that just an insult to her
and i really think you were
wrong if anything i wasn’t
good enough to you
and im still so sorry
be so sorry
for that and it
wont matter to
you that i am
and that is
There comes a time every so often, I think, that you have to do some self inspection. And I don’t mean those stupid little Buzzfeed quizzes like, what’s your style of pizza, or which movie star are you most like, but really deep shit best done with a good friend, or a complete stranger. To sort of get to the stuff inside, the stuff you don’t necessarily know about, to plow through all the bullshit and figure out maybe who you actually are.
I’m not saying it’s entirely possible, or that it’s even a healthy thing to do. it’s just necessary, sometimes, to reevaluate your life. And It’s always interesting to get a read on yourself. I used to do it on Tumblr almost daily. I considered it a mind dump, and it kept me thinking, kept me active. But it seems like now all my little gray cells are concentrated towards bullshitting another PSet and getting through another midterm and just driving myself towards the Fridays. Because I never go to sleep anymore, I just take naps.
Over winter break i told people that college was like taking weeks like days, and taking the semester like a week. I used to do this thing with my dad where we would try to swim from one end of the pool to the other in one breath. And that’s what college does, it sucks you in at the beginning of the semester and spits you out at the end, in one breath. You don’t stop going.
But it’s different time around. Something shifted, and I’m not sure what. But it seems more important to sleep. To eat. To chill the fuck out and go look at some art. To actually enjoy life. I’m not sure I’m happier this semester, pretty sure I’m more bored, but at the same time, in trivializing a lot of things, I’ve trivialized the things that should be trivialized. The midterms and PSets and little things that used to stress me out. They’re still important, they just don’t freak me the fuck out anymore. And that’s the difference between frenetic people, and utterly calm people. It’s not that they don’t care, it’s that they got this shit and it doesn’t matter.
I wish I could say I had reached some massive epiphany about R, about what he was like about a person, because he didn’t have his shit together. But he was low stress. And I needed that. I still need that. It’s funny how your past always seems to grab you back. And I’m happy now, where I am, whatever it is that’s going on. But I’ve also come to terms with the idea that R will always be a huge part of my life, even though we don’t interact, even though we don’t talk or text or communicate in anyway. Even though he probably thinks about me less than even before he knew me and I will always think about him at least once a day…it really doesn’t matter. It was just such a rich experience, a childhood fairytale. Things often don’t go how we expect them or want them to. And I think I’ve made my piece with never being able to close that book completely. I don’t think he reads this anymore.
But I digress. You know when you discover that someone is actually massively interesting and there’s just pieces of them you uncover slowly? It’s exciting. He swims and he’s a Democrat and he’s frustratingly structured and utterly chilled out and loves country. He can’t enjoy a movie that’s too long and needs to get shit done and took a gap year to work on Obama’s campaign. I think he’s 6 ft (plus a couple of inches or two) with cheekbones you could cut yourself on, and he smells like R. He takes his coffee black.
I miss N. It’s late and I miss him. And you know, it’s not that sort of frenetic energy that jiggles the back of your mind and makes you giddy and excited and have butterflies in your stomach. It’s sort of just a dull ache that you feel deep in your bones and through your fingertips. It’s like missing a part of yourself, It’s like missing something that makes you feel alive. It’s missing your best friend, it’s missing someone you know you can come back to at the end of the night and do this massive mind dump on. It’s missing someone who will fuck up their sleep schedule for you and genuinely be so excited to talk to you about nothing at all. And it’s lovely, it really is. But it’s so surreal, it was so long ago, it hardly seems like it ever happened. I would be terrified of not missing you.
I miss text posts, I miss having philosophilanderings on things, I miss a lot of pretty phrases and metaphors. I’ve traded it for review sessions and lectures and clicker questions and PSets, and I’m not sure I’m actually learning more. It’s been too long.
There was a moment in my expository writing class on nudity in art where all I wanted to say was that Degas wasn’t a misogynist through his paintings, wasn’t really trying to make a statement with his cruder renderings of the female body, wasn’t deviating from the classical nude for the purpose of portraying these women as deviants…he was just a man who made some charcoal scratchings on a cum-stained napkin while in a brothel.
But of course I couldn’t say that. Who would have agreed that an artist who’s works are now worth millions would have also scribbled on cum-stained napkins?
Your mom might not have wanted it to give it all away. Because she wanted to breed again another dayyyy.
I think I realized that while being attractive certainly makes your life easier in someways…there are ways to make up for it. Like being really good at blow jobs or having a kick ass personality.
i’d tell you
that i’m still
the craving never
stops and i miss running
my fingers across open
cuts because it tingles
and reminds me that
i’m still alive in a
way just being
will but no
I went to an art museum yesterday. People say there are architects that speak to your soul. And it’s quite true. There’s nothing like a cascading staircase that makes my heart as happy. I’m making it a point to go out into Boston more, and I think it’s much healthier for me, just in terms of being in connected to a city, and hurrying the fuck up to do everything else so I can be cultured.
It’s been discussed before on here, but I felt like it deserved to be written down again after visiting a museum of contemporary art. I’m taking this class called Humanities Studio 2: Homeless Paintings. Essentially we go out and research these lost art objects of the Italian Renaissance that were considered misplaced by Bernard Berenson, a little Jewish man of not much wealth who visited Harvard and then became an art connoissuer. He’s fucking everywhere in art history, it’s too much to be any sort of coincidence.
In any sense, we were assigned Scott McCloud’s comic on the comic, and honestly there was a section that was just incredible. To those of you who are fans of his work, I’m sure you’re familiar with his idea the six levels of comic drawing.
It blew my mind. Chills, honestly. I don’t think I’ve been that excited about anything academic for a few months. But essentially the idea came full circle at the art museum.
Contemporary art is rife with people saying “I could’ve done that.” and just “Is that bullshit?” but if you really think about it, everything we’ve ever done throughout the years, every piece of music written, every painting ever done, everything that humans have ever produced in the grand name of art, has been the same old story, trying to say the same old shit over and over again in different iterations, in different cultural contexts, with different mediums.
And it’s beautiful. It makes me cry sometimes.
I’m really, really fucking happy today. And I don’t really know why. There’s no particular reason. I’m tired, I ache, the weather is absolute shit, and I miss you. You might be doing god knows what or who and I can’t find my bracelet. But it’s okay. The potential this world holds is absolutely insane. Can you even imagine it? It’s fucking beautiful, life is. It’s fucking beautiful.
Take me places. Bring me traveling. Pack my bags light and share adventures. I want to see the world. Not to run away, just to touch it with you.
have to wear
old spice and
nothing else just
because now so many
people smell like you
and that makes it
hard to forget
all of the
It’s snowing a lot on campus and some of it is melting into slush, but anyway clumsy ditz that I am, I need to be super careful about it.
My friend the French Cuban rower Chinese speaking guy was walking from the bookstore and had his hood down covering his eyes and I saw him from across the way so I was going to run up and surprise him. But as my luck would have it, as I ran (not even, I was just walking kind of fast) towards him, I absolutely slipped and fell flat on my ass.
Right into him. right between his legs.
And he looked down shocked as hell but then realized it was me and started laughing and said,
“Hello, my love.”
And I started cracking the hell up and we were just laughing hysterically and then he picked me up.
A note to self that you’re lucky to be able to look like a fool in front of a gorgeous man and walk away laughing.
It was so cold.