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skonen_bladesThis life, this illusion, our photographs and hair gel and fear of the end times, are all architecture caught in the act of a lightning strike. We understand that film moves at 24 frames per second to create the illusion of motion but we don’t know how fast reality splits to fool us. Each newscaster takes up smoking because they know the end times have been happening ever since we developed language.
Hardwood floors don’t matter any more than carpets. Cupcakes won’t help us. The loose ends are life. This panic we harvest and soothe has the same math as moths hitting light bulbs, food that never goes bad, and lottery-ticket logic. DNA is a recipe that echoes, entrenched in our own circuitry. It’s the lipstick we wear on our own laughter. It’s a divorce in a martini glass. We’re adding spices to the meal with a picture of Paris in the background.
We all teach ourselves magic tricks to pass the time. We misunderstand everything. Christmas lights make every 2am relationship conversation glow. I can’t catch food in my mouth when I throw it in the air, for example. We’re going to the scene of the crime, now, live, in this bookcase we call a stage. You’re a dirty microphone turning all of this sound into an experience that you can bottle up, fly away from, or throw back at the world. I, myself, will have boiled antlers and a nice chianti.
I was raised to believe that women knew what they wanted, knew what they were thinking, and were driven. I have found that to be incorrect on many occasions. I think that women were raised to think the same thing about men. I think a lot of problems have resulted in the face of this. I think my right hand is married to my heart and my left hand is married to my brain. I think the purest form of expression is dance. I think forever’s not so long.
inspired by the short film Forever's Not So Long.
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Hardwood floors don’t matter any more than carpets. Cupcakes won’t help us. The loose ends are life. This panic we harvest and soothe has the same math as moths hitting light bulbs, food that never goes bad, and lottery-ticket logic. DNA is a recipe that echoes, entrenched in our own circuitry. It’s the lipstick we wear on our own laughter. It’s a divorce in a martini glass. We’re adding spices to the meal with a picture of Paris in the background.
We all teach ourselves magic tricks to pass the time. We misunderstand everything. Christmas lights make every 2am relationship conversation glow. I can’t catch food in my mouth when I throw it in the air, for example. We’re going to the scene of the crime, now, live, in this bookcase we call a stage. You’re a dirty microphone turning all of this sound into an experience that you can bottle up, fly away from, or throw back at the world. I, myself, will have boiled antlers and a nice chianti.
I was raised to believe that women knew what they wanted, knew what they were thinking, and were driven. I have found that to be incorrect on many occasions. I think that women were raised to think the same thing about men. I think a lot of problems have resulted in the face of this. I think my right hand is married to my heart and my left hand is married to my brain. I think the purest form of expression is dance. I think forever’s not so long.
inspired by the short film Forever's Not So Long.
tags
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no subject
Date: 30 Sep 2009 01:46 (UTC)YES, damnit.
"I think a lot of problems have resulted in the face of this."
YES, damnit.
no subject
Date: 30 Sep 2009 04:54 (UTC);)
Date: 30 Sep 2009 05:21 (UTC)no subject
Date: 30 Sep 2009 04:54 (UTC)