Bing Bang Boom

I have measured out my life in coffee spoons
And I want to tell the story again
I've got a right to be hostile
and I know about 50 different ways to leave a lover.

“A pessimist complains about the wind, an optimist expects it to change, a realist adjusts the sails.”

I’ve now thrown off the last vestiges of you. The last residual icky feelings, tied to the things that we both love, are now gone. I feel nothing for you today. No anger, no love, no resentment. Just nothing.

We once discussed that the opposite of love isn’t hatred, it’s indifference. I agreed with you then and I agree with you now. The sentiment, nothing more, is true.

I’ve felt this way before, but it’s funny that it’s happening today. Today, one year ago, was the day that we discussed how we could affect change within everything that we were interested in. It’s funny that the change that occurred wasn’t in those organizations, but within our friendship itself.

When did that happen? I can’t pinpoint when the change occurred, only when I knew that we were fundamentally no longer friends. The archaelogists of friendships will sift through the wreckage of our long-destroyed civilization, and yet will be unable to say with certainty when the destruction began. All they’ll be able to say is that it was not one event. There was no massive earthquake, shifting the plates beneath our feet, changing the landscape. It was the slow trickle of water (with no discernable source), gently and yet insidiously eroding the foundations of our world, until there was nothing left.

And yet, it’s done. And yet, I’m not sorry. I’m not sad. I’m not angry. I feel nothing for you or the choices that you made and continue to make. I accept that you will never understand what you did wrong, or really feel an apology is necessary. I have no more energy or time to worry about you, or feel a new sentiment. I’m just….. done.

we will fall like ripe fruit and roll down the grass together.
dear friend, let me lie beside you watching the clouds until
the earth covers us and we are gone.

-Jeanette Winterson, Written on the Body” (via thechocolatebrigade)

Jeanette Winterson is one of my favorite authors. I think that she’s fucking fabulous.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride; so I love you because I know no other way.
Pablo Neruda
The empty vessel makes the loudest sound.
 Shakespeare’s Henry V, Act 4, Scene 4 — yes, it is Shakespeare’s way of saying the airheads are the loudest but still the stupidest.
Nothing sucks more than that moment during an argument when you realize you’re wrong.
Observational Humour is the best
logical philosophic reasoning cannot account for all experience, especially not for self-representation via art.

Wikipedia entry for Walter Benjamin……….

It sounds so pretentious, but unpacking it, it feels so real for me.