Trying to write from Jim Jones’ perspective is making me both depressed and angry at the same time. I’m also hungry.
I also can’t figure out a title for this essay, something about red and fathers and kool-aid and sunglasses.
Thank you M83 for being the soundtrack to my Wilderness Lit essay.
We all come from somewhere. Even if we end up nowhere. Until then, all manners of love at any cost. Any other option defiles the insurmountable reverence due all creation, immeasurable in bounty and beauty, incomparable in awe. The world is abundant, against all odds. My prayer has always been love.
Sufjan always knows what’s up.
From Robert Frost’s notebooks:
Please Let Me Flourish
Somewhere on earth where as in heaven
desert doesn’t matter.
The inalienable right to fail.
To flourish is to play.
It’s a sad day for (former) emo kids.
MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE BROKE UP?! WHAT?! Yeah, sure I don’t listen to them anymore, but y’know, they were my high-school obsession band! They were my go-to band to deal with all my angst.
I’m going to go listen to “You Brought Me Your Bullets, I Brought You My Love.” (Which should really have a semi-colon in in).
Okay, I’m not over exaggerating. BUT - I’ve been working out for like, 2 days now and my bicep on my right arm is gettin’ pretty hard. I’m stoked. I didn’t realize I still had muscles. If only my abs made such progress…. I still need to make a workout playlist … one that involves lots of Jay-Z and Kayne.
Nature.
I’m starting to realize my love for nature might have something to do with the fact that I was born in the golden age of Disney movies. Meaning, the fact that animals both adore and help Disney princesses is something I kind of idealized as a kid. I did feed wild birds (sparrows … at the Grand Canyon) out of my hand one time. But, I’m not like, a fantastic singer. So there you have it. An open confession of how Disney corrupted yet another impressionable mind with delusions of grandeur and rainbows.
But, yes. I’m putting a sticker on my car that reads: BE MORE LIKE MUIR.
2013. It’s not gonna disappoint.
Also, I’m starting a new blog.
I’m so lonely on my long commute home late at night that I listen to Loveline with Dr. Drew
An artist must be a reactionary. He has to stand out against the tenor of the age and not go flopping along; he must offer some little opposition.
This Morning
Read Women’s Indian Captivity Narratives. Disturbing. Not the captivity part, but the gracelessness and lack of compassion and understanding shown by the captive puritan women.
Writing in my journal about Plato, Euripides, Ovid and Homer.
Let’s get classical.
