Could it be that I’m coming to terms with life at last? Like a bullfighter met with his opponent, mapping the dodges and feints already prescribed in yellow eyes.
Our outlines are being lost to a garden. We sit on your porch and drink beer that’s supposed to be infused with raspberries, but I can’t taste it. You are telling me about the time you were up in the London Eye. The whole city stretched out below you, frozen in a moment with a group of might-have-beens, coming of age but not self-aware enough to come of age. I imagine the two of us up there now, staring down at us on your porch. The sky is dark and a thunderstorm sends a bolt of hot lightning across the sky. Around us the white snapdragons and the red daisies, marigolds quiver, strain to grow. We are still, we drink our beer, our outlines being lost to a garden.
“The earth is the most remarkable of all museums: everything that has ever happened on it is exhibited in situ. From its ‘lunar beginnings’ to this very moment, every tremor left its mark as an archeological gesture. We leaf through the pages of a global past whose factuality can’t be simulated…some day we will learn to decode this earth we trample on, deciphering every little bit of evidence on it in order to make sense of it by reassembling cosmic history through our planet by carefully inspecting it as a dinosaur bone of the infinite.” —Malcolm De Chazal, Sens-Plastique
A murder of Corgis
(I think the actual one is “a dork of Corgis,” which is almost as good”)
a proliferation of emails.
“A convocation of eagles” is just amazing.
Instead of rose petals on the bed sheets just sprinkle the blood of the bourgeois.
Laughable amount of rain today. Just laughable.
Saw a Penn girl taking the walk of shame. Last night’s red dress, carrying her heels, jumping home through the puddles.