therapy
People become addicted to therapy. Upon entry, there’s no escape. One needs to have every event and scene from his or her life probed. In this sad little world of ours, people are given medicine and medical terms to brush off reality. They just don’t make people the way the used to. Now, everyone is addicted to something.
boyfriends.
other people: Why don’t you have a boyfriend?
me: Because I’m a cave troll.
me: Guys don’t like cave trolls.
For months I listened to her cry long-distance, but then she got a little older and learned how to laugh and coo and sigh in that satisfied baby way that makes me understand how some could bring a child into this lousy world of ours.
— “Baby Einstein” - David Sedaris
In bed that night I remain stationary as he toils in the darkness. Afterward, there is silence and the sound of breathing. Next to the bed, my big collie whines in her sleep. Finally, he says quietly, with something in his voice I don’t recognize, “It’s good you’re back.”
Tick, tock. Breathe in, breathe out. There is no mercy at this hour of the night, and my own sounds strange in the darkness. I’m not, is what I tell him. He rolls over and puts his face in the pillow. Everywhere you turn these days there’s someone crying.
— “The Boys of My Youth” - Jo Ann Beard
i don’t know.
Nothing can fill this void. Work, school, friends. It doesn’t make sense. Everything spirals from technicolor to shades of gray.
Why can’t you just tell me what’s wrong?
The world’s worst war criminalJoseph Kony is the worst living criminal. He abducts children and hands them guns to kill other people, even their parents. He uses the girls as sex slaves. The children he abducted are called the Lord’s Resistance Army, also known as, The LRA. He has abducted over 30,000 children and uses them as kid soldiers in Central Africa. He remains at large because he is practically invisible to the whole world. That’s why we’re making him famous. Let us make him famous to stop his crimes.
# Everyone who watches this documentary please try and share it.
Thanks
Fidel
I think it is all a matter of love; the more you love a memory the stronger and stranger it becomes.
— Lolita, Vladmir Nabokov
i write to play God.
It gives me the satisfaction of controlling something.
nico.
I walked home, and Nico watched me from her window. I waved, and she closed her curtains. They were so thin. I remember seeing her shadow through them, pacing in front of her window. From the window, I could see her silhouette slip off her shirt and snip her hair. I could see her thin neck, her small waist. Nico never really fleshed out. All the sliced locks fluttered down, and she snipped more and more. I could see the blades of the scissors as she held out her hair to measure it. The strands fell, like wisps of smoke. Someone cleared their throat. I turned around. “Hello, Hunter. It’s nice to see you,” Mrs. Graham said. “Going home?” Her lips were spread tight across her face.
