Me: So how’s your day going? You tired? Did you eat well here or no? The Fly: Humans have no idea just how filthy their houses are. I’ll be living out the rest of my life here, Lady. Your house is a paradise. Me: How come you aren’t in the kitchen with the other flies?
I’ve taken to writing in my underwear. It’s damned liberating. This past week, I’ve been doing my writing in one of these. The IKEA Poang chair is the best thing that has happened to my body in a very long time aside from my bike. Whenever I come up with something really good, I lean
And, yes, even now, there’s no lack of crap. I know that this is a shocking revelation, but some of the so-called literature in many grade school literature books is crap squeezed between two covers.
So, I walked into my room last night and looked at my bed and thought, What the heck? Honestly, I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s always the same issue. My mornings look like this: I stare at my closet trying to figure out which type of a mood I’m in. I settle on something and put
Don’t you just love those people who are such storytellers that, even when you inform him or her that you’ve heard the story told before, he says, “Shut up and listen to my story,” and just keeps telling it? And we always end up smiling at the same parts, rolling our eyes, laughing out loud, calling out “Oh, whatever!” at
via Daily Prompt: Control Anthem by Ayn Rand showcases a dystopia of the distant future. It’s about society’s effects on the individual. I’d like to take some time to discuss how it’s ideas might apply to friendship and romantic love. These applications may be old news to you, but I’m excited to share my thoughts and see
Here’s a scene: Demetrius comes out of his mid-sized hut to find something wrong. He had paid Henry to fix this problem. And now here it is rearing its dumb ugly head in his front yard. Everyone thought that Henry was a man with common sense. That’s why he had hired him. He was wrong,
I hate mouth noises–
the rhythmic chomping, mashing,
cracking and moisturizing.
So, I love reading. I get anxious when I’m stuck somewhere with nothing to read. Many of you may be thinking, “Doesn’t she always have her phone? You know, like a normal person.”
Be Drunk by Charles Baudelaire translated by Louis Simpson You have to be always drunk. That’s all there is to it—it’s the only way. So as not to feel the horrible burden of time that breaks your back and bends you to the earth, you have to be continually drunk. But on what? Wine, poetry or virtue,