Pigeons swarming over by dropped civilian crumbs, table legs, umbrellas over the eating area that don’t do their job and point in the other direction. A brief respite provided by a cloud. The sound of dropped coins on cement, slow-leaking gas, car engines, a medley of voices conversing over soda straws. Lunch in the city is nice.
My fiction professor preferred the short story I wrote the night before it was due to the story I’d worked on for a week. I guess I over-think things.
The brain works intricately, it is adaptable. We like to think “colorfully,” though our brain’s junctures sometimes fail to present any type of meaningful idea. We also think as impulse, we engage in reckless behavior as a way to seek reward: acceptance swaddled attention, anything but a contrite reaction. Our brains allow us to negotiate—we can think of ways to get out of virtually any situation—we are highly evolved. Or at least we think we are.
You are, at once,
Infinite and finite,
Old and New,
A cog in the cosmos.
When I think of life
I think joy and pain
And freedom. But I also
Think chains and boundaries.
We are tied to our selves,
Stuck on Earth,
Bound to this body.
We are stuck, so utterly,
Like moss on a rock.
I have a science writing portfolio and a fiction portfolio due tomorrow… and here I am on Tumblr. Shame.
Blow soft kisses into the wind; I know we’ll never come back here. It was last autumn when we officially decided, but standing now at the brink of abandonment, those passing four months seem to have sped by. I don’t want to go, but I know it is for the best. It’s something we discussed many times before. I didn’t always see it the way he did, but I suppose it’s him who needs to make all of the decisions after all.
I’ve never been
to such a place- where dreary hills
make wastelands shine.
Content in stasis, slow moving
like syrup suffocating
and squeezing the light from eyes
bright and new.
The day is grim, and promises snow.
To Staunton we go for The Country Wife.
The beginning, the middle, the end.
the rise, the climax, the resolution.
Days to live; he came back.
My advisor asked me whether or not I had a blog. I panicked and said “no.” Not that I update this frequently, but I guess it still counts. He recommends one post a week. Oh, and he said to learn the entire Adobe CS. And he used preparing for a hike as a metaphor for entering the job market. He’s kind of the greatest.
She seared herself with knowledge and the hope of making all that is wrong with the world somehow bearable. Anguish and fate copulated under boughs of whispery willows. Beam after beam of reflected headlight reminded them of home. You see, it wasn’t the end, as they say, for there is no end. The book may say “The End,” but the story goes on for as long as time is or isn’t.
"we had reached the place where the motion of the wasted world accelerates just before the final precipice" - William Faulkner
~Hope Gamper~
