Soren on the wings of a dove.

That was the worst Soren Kierkegaard pun I've come up with today at work. I've been obsessively wikipedia-ing him all day. It's what I do when I'm not wandering around the AIDS and psychiatry hallways/"checking the mail". What a sad, strange little man that Soren was. Unfortunately, with most things I obssesively gather information about, it's dried me up and left me feeling empty inside. Plus, he's not even funny. And I'm tired of people not being funny. And I'm tired of being at work. Yes, I think I'll walk home today.
What is a poet? An unhappy person who conceals profound anguish in his heart but whose lips are so formed that as sighs and cries pass over them they sound like beautiful music.

no more secrets.

Just pictures of me and my cat. And jesus apparently.

ריצ'רד

אני נראה כמו האבא שלי
יש לי את הידיים שלו, האף שלו, ולשון החדה שלו
אני ילדת האבא שלי
I look like my father.
I have his hands, his nose, and his sharp tongue.
I am my father's daughter.

use me up.

I can't tell if he's squinting and sweating out of passion, or the combination of orange polyester and overhead lights.
Either way, I'm yours Bill Withers.

taste my sad/taste my happy

The summer of 04 was one of my best summers to date. It consisted almost entirely of sleeping in late, driving to rachel's, and doing absolutely nothing with her and austin. We sat on the workman's couch for hours. Sometimes talking. Sometimes silent. I think at one point austin and I even hung out there when nobody was home. We just snuck in through the garage, poured ourselves some water and swung on the swings in the backyard.
The day Lindsey and I graduated from high school we went back to her house and slept on the back porch from 2 until nightfall. Only the cicadas singing us to sleep.
Some of my fondest memories involve doing nothing with the people I love.

my fond but distant memory

Should old acquaintances be forgotten
And never brought to mind?
Should old acquaintances be forgotten,
And days of long ago !
For old long ago, my dear
For old long ago,
We will take a cup of kindness yet
For old long ago.
We two have run about the hillsides
And pulled the daisies fine,
But we have wandered many a weary foot
For old long ago.
We two have paddled in the stream
From noon until dinner time,
But seas between us broad have roared
Since old long ago.
And there is a hand, my trusty friend,
And give us a hand of yours,
And we will take a goodwill draught (of ale)
For old long ago!
And surely you will pay for your pint,
And surely I will pay for mine!
And we will take a cup of kindness yet
For old long ago!