There are an awful lot of words I love. Recently when talking to a friend about new slang, I discovered, to my dismay (all dis- words are sweet sounding, small and gestural, like children giving flowers)that I'm fond of the word "whatever". Ripped away and examined, every possibly meaning of the word is quite light and free sounding. "Ever" is the unquestionably elegant part of the word matched with the blunt rationalism of "what".
Why do all my thoughts come in these little bowed packages? Never a moving truck, boxes and boxes lugged in. Unpacked. I want my mind to be a mansion. A fucking penthouse apartment. Excuse my frustration. A lot of my anger is directed to myself. Here I am, riding on the tailwind of the only great intellectual species on the planet. How do I allow myself to do nothing?
Artichokes are difficult but delicious.
I think I'll go to bed. And tomorrow I'll wake up and try to live my life.
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I agree. Artichokes really are difficult. They take so long to eat--you're like "Arrrgh!!! You damn artichoke!!!"
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