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[01 Nov 2009|08:02pm] |
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Oh, my darling, what happened to you? How could you forget about those long nights, far far away from society, counting an endless number of meteors? How could you forget making all of those magical wishes you knew wouldn't come true but dreamt up anyway? Or what about conquering those mountains that were taller than God? What about laying in the middle of that field during the biggest thunderstorm you had ever encountered, being convinced that night would be end of the world, yet somehow still waking up the next morning? What about watching the trees dance with the sunshine in that beautiful, crisp morning light? Did you forget about those times when your favorite song would start playing right as a gush of wind dashed by? Those times when you believed in something more than just what was in front of you.
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[23 Oct 2009|05:04pm] |
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I wish I could _______.
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[14 Aug 2009|02:05pm] |
“The traveler was active; he went strenuously in search of people, of adventure, of experience. The tourist is passive; he expects interesting things to happen to him. He goes “sightseeing.”
— Daniel J. Boorstin, 1961
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[31 Jul 2009|12:36pm] |
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[21 Jul 2009|12:33pm] |
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My search is over. The metaphysical questions have all been answered. Every aspect of my being is always right there in front of me. I am my lipstick, my lotion, my jeans, my condoms, my condiments- a thousand points of light that shine brighter than the stars. God is dead, but I'm more alive than ever. My cream is exactly me.
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[30 Oct 2008|04:46pm] |
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[25 Aug 2008|11:43am] |
The roads were worn with strings of weeds popping out of every crack between the cement and dirt. The trees hung like curtains over the road, letting only enough sunshine through to create an everlasting glow on every leaf. All of the space between myself, the road and the plants was filled with an earthy aroma. Small white flowers would casually but elegantly fall from the trees and float very slowly down to my feet, creating a summer snowfall. A small gust of wind throws my hair in my face and without thought I realize that my feet are pushing me forward. I run straight and steady, not away from something but toward something. The road slowly disappears and there are trees in every direction. I keep running. The path is created for me and by me with every new step. My off-white dress is now filled with air and my feet are no longer touching the ground. I don't have to look down to realize that my full body is floating. I am still moving forward and the only thing my feet are touching is air. The dress plays the role of my wings. The sun winks at me through spaces between branches and leaves. I breathe in the summer soaked air and my body and lungs are filled with euphoria.
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[19 Sep 2007|11:53pm] |
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Suppose a child is born devoid of all senses; he has no sight, no hearing, no touch, no smell, no taste-- nothing. There's no way whatsoever for him to receive any sensations from the outside world. And suppose this child is fed intravenously and otherwise attended to and kept alive for eighteen years in this state of existence. The question is then asked: Does this eighteen-year-old person have a thought in his head? If so, where does it come from? How does he get it?
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[11 Mar 2006|12:58am] |
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'My life is brilliant. My life is cheap,' she thought to herself as her eyes were glued to a crowded television screen. Smoke flowed from a smooth glass pipe and soon filled up the corners of the room. She struck a match, lit up, and inhaled what she knew would be the night's greatest achievement.
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bl00dysunday's journal
