You write, “It’s like I keep figuring this shit out, and then forgetting it immediately.” That’s not your strange little personal problem. That’s not what makes you uniquely fucked. That’s a universal truth, a fundamental dimension of the human condition. You know who feels that way? You, me…
9:17 p.m. Earlier I said these mozzarella sticks taste like garbage. I would like to amend that statement. They taste worse than garbage. I would prefer to eat garbage, because then there would be the chance I would get to eat a bite of something good someone started to eat but couldn’t finish, or paper.
The water outside TGI Friday’s is black now.
9:23 p.m. I keep thinking I hear people say “Caity.” I write down in my notebook that I am “definitely hallucinating.”
I put my head near the table to write more and the scent of old marinara and burnt rubber fills my nostrils. I sit back up.
9:36 p.m. A waiter tries to give me another table’s Boneless Buffalo Wings. Do not tempt me, Satan.
i don’t care about what trends men hate. tell me what trends women love. how do i wear my eyeliner so a girl will want to kiss me. what color lipstick makes her think about moving to a cute house on the beach with me and getting 5 dogs. do ladies like peplum dresses and platform heels or not. come on.
i was literally just lying in bed thinking “oh my god, i am so inexplicably sad right now, it feels like ive been hollowed out and am going to be sick” and then i sat up like “wait. thats hunger. i have yet to eat dinner”
“I love borders. August is the border between summer and autumn; it is the most beautiful month I know. Twilight is the border between day and night, and the shore is the border between sea and land. The border is longing; when both have fallen in love but still haven’t said anything. The border is to be on the way. It is the way that is the most important thing.”—
“This is a love song, which, if you’re familiar with my love songs, means that something is going to have to get broken before it gets done, and then two or more people will have to gather around the broken pieces that remain and try to read them like fortune tellers divining the future in animal entrails. I have some news for the people in this song and for anyone who shares their notions: animal entrails can’t tell you anything. The future will be brighter if you stop breaking stuff, no matter how exhilarated it makes you feel in the short term. What is the use, though, in trying to convince our lovers that the road to ecstasy doesn’t pass through the valley of total damage? It’s not that they want to “learn it the hard way.” It’s that they don’t want to learn.”—John Darnielle - on his song “Psalm 40:2” (via paperbagsdocs)