Hopefully you're smart. Hopefully you still read this.

Art objects to the lie against life that it is pointless and mean. The message coloured through time is not lack but abundance, not silence but many voices. Art, all art is the communication cord that cannot be snapped by indifference or disaster. Against the daily death it does not die.

Art Objects: Essays on Ecstasy and Effrontery 

Jeanette Winterson

you spoke to me in siren song, anyone would drown

I never want to see you unhappy.

-----

Is there always something greater? or is this the greatest?

-----

Fishnets and fighting clothes

you don't know what to do with those

a foreign language is

only the beginning

of this trip we're taking

in the middle of

the Bleak

mid-winter

-----

I thought it should be known that I play this song every day.

I also found another arrangement of it and discovered a missing, rather upsetting verse.

The water is wide, I cannot get o'er,

and neither have I wings to fly;

give me a boat that will carry two,

and both shall row, my love and I.

O down in the meadows the other day,

a gath'ring flow'rs both bright and gay,

a gath'ring flow'rs both red and blue,

I little thought what love can do.

I leaned my back up against an oak

thinking that he was a trusty tree;

but first he bended and then he broke;

and so did my false love to me.

A ship there is and she sails the sea,

she's loaded deep as deep can be,

but not so deep as the love I'm in:

I know not if I sink or swim.

I put my hand in some soft bush,

thinking the sweetest flow'r to find,

I pricked my finger to the bone,

and left the sweetest flow'r behind.

O love is handsome and love is fine,

and love's a jewel while it is new,

but when it is old it groweth cold,

and fades away like morning dew.

Blu

Blue.

Blue eyes

Blue hair?

Blue fingernails.

Blue lights in the subway

Blue doors

Blue sky

Blue bag

Blue tile

Blue paint

Blue suit

Blue building

Blue Brain!

Blue blood

Blue bug

Blue ocean

Blue eyes.

Blue.

waiting for the G

FED UP

in love.

Do you know where to find your home?

Because I painted it Grey

and cut down all the trees

and your front door is boarded up.

shhhhhh!hhhhhh.

your heart is where your leave it.

It sometimes pays to have a bad memory.

or did you cut yours into pieces - too small to hold?

The silence makes it clear

I came home early tonight to get a good night sleep for once this week and instead I stayed awake to watch Into the Wild. Quite an amazing film, I'm so glad I waited until now to see it instead of when it was in theaters. I owe the experience to Tom :-) I think it may have changed my life.

Thank you!!

Now I'm giving myself an hour to lounge around and practice my rudiments before I muster up the energy to go do some laundry and wash dishes before I go to work.

I painted tonight! It's been awhile. It also makes me a little bit happier.

Happiness is best shared.

Sleepless in...sisters?

I'M IN OREGON I'M IN OREGON I'M IN OREGON!!!

I want to go outside and play in the rain. I feel a little bit giddy. 

Thoreau missed

"...the mass of men live lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them."

-Henry David Thoreau

Well now that's a bit strange, don't you think? The very essence of being desperate comes complete with irrationality, surges of emotion; despair, distress, anguish, torment, misery, wretchedness, all pushed to the point of hopelessness. I consider it a bit far-fetched to associate desperation with that of quietness. Someone truly desperate could not be satisfied day in and day out simply moping about, mourning one's self. If one were desperate, there would be urgency in their step. Drama would play a leading role in their life. 

With all due respect to Mr. Thoreau, I have trouble understanding why he felt this way. I see what he is describing and view it as more of a beautiful let-down rather than a desperate man.

Forgive me if i'm wrong.