The leisure and the fearful time
Cuts off the ceremonious vows of love
And ample interchange of sweet discourse,
Which so-long-sundered friends should dwell upon.
God give us leisure for these rites of love!
Once more, adieu. Be valiant, and speed well. —
-Richard III, [5.3.101-107] (via noogeroo)
Seemed apt for the start of school… Where friendships are quantified by how many readings or sets of notes they will yield.
Everytime you come up against opposition or difficulty or struggle, and you think to yourself, “That’s it, I’m falling apart”, and then you have to go through one more trial, and you don’t fall apart. That’s when you figure out that the edge of the cliff is further than you thought.
One day when I’m rolling in money I will dispense it with impunity and not worry about having to owe anyone, and not have to worry about running out, and give it to people in need, in amounts carefully calculated to be just copious enough to arouse suspicions of my incipient anarcho-practicalist tendencies.
some thoughts from the past few days
Hiding away in an unlocked bunk in Seletar camp because I’m 30 minutes early and I have no friends here to go find, the clouds that had been looming all morning finally burst out in a steady shower. A moment ago I was 30 minutes early and now I feel like I was just in time.
And as the cool wind brings in a light mist of freshly fallen rain, a thought comes to my mind; if this is a sign, then maybe it’s saying, hey, things do work out in the end.
He must find his own way to survive and prosper, turning challenge into opportunity.
I swear to every heaven ever imagined,
if I hear one more dead-eyed hipster
tell me that art is dead, I will personally summon Shakespeare
from the grave so he can tell them every reason
why he wishes he were born in a time where
he could have a damn Gmail account.
The day after I taught my mother
how to send pictures over Iphone she texted
me a blurry image of our cocker spaniel ten times in a row.
Don’t you dare try to tell me that that is not beautiful.
But whatever, go ahead and choose to stay in
your backwards-hoping-all-inclusive club
while the rest of us fall in love over Skype.
Send angry letters to state representatives,
as we record the years first sunrise so
we can remember what beginning feels like when
we are inches away from the trigger.
Lock yourself away in your Antoinette castle
while we eat cake and tweet to the whole universe that we did.
Hashtag you’re a pretentious ass hole.
Van Gogh would have taken 20 selflies a day.
Sylvia Plath would have texted her lovers
nothing but heart eyed emojis when she ran out of words.
Andy Warhol would have had the worlds weirdest Vine account,
and we all would have checked it every morning while we
Snap Chat our coffee orders to the people
we wish were pressed against our lips instead of lattes.
This life is spilling over with 85 year olds
rewatching JFK’s assassination and
7 year olds teaching themselves guitar over Youtube videos.
Never again do I have to be afraid of forgetting
what my fathers voice sounds like.
No longer must we sneak into our families phonebook
to look up an eating disorder hotline for our best friend.
No more must I wonder what people in Australia sound like
or how grasshoppers procreate.
I will gleefully continue to take pictures of tulips
in public parks on my cellphone
and you will continue to scoff and that is okay.
But I hope, I pray, that one day you will realize how blessed
you are to be alive in a moment where you can google search
how to say I love you in 164 different languages. — b.e.fitzgerald (Art is a Facebook status about your winter break.)
As the rain over the past few days saw off the last of the unbearably humid, muggy weather, temperatures fell even as spirits rose; as if some cosmic balance scale had been keeping the two in check.
Elijah went before the people and said, “How long will you waver between two opinions? If the LORD is God, follow him; but if Baal is God, follow him.” But the people said nothing. — 1 Kings 18:21 New International Version