Drank Double Strength Black Tea At 1 Am During Finals Week And The Hat Man Is Here

Charlotte Eriksson

Marti Healy

Hal Borland, Sundial of the Seasons

Terri Guillemets

Roald Dahl

Nose is stuffy I cannot know peace please Thank Jesus all you with clear sinuses, love, your unwilling mouth breather

Oh look its just me and my grief and my jealousy and my bitterness and my fruitless wishes to be better again <3

On today’s episode of listening to astral projection music after midnight and feeling like I’m literally going to claw out of my skin with intense emotion, I am literally home alone in a foreign country and have to be awake in 4 and a half hours and the song is Malibu 1992 by coin <3 someone please help me I am in the grip of demonic forces

Actually I am going to love as hard and as fully as I can knowing it will crash and burn and disappear because what loss is worse??? The person or the possibilities??? No pain is as great as I should have, and so I will cry over happy memories instead of wasted ones. Good night, love recklessly everyone

I love you and forgive you by the way, just so you know

Hello Void I am back, I am leaving for the airport in 4 hours and in about 30 hours I will be in Italy for the next four months, and I gotta tell you I am very glad that I decided to stay alive. All glory to God.

Journal

And its all in my head, (our past, our future)

I can’t get you out of my head

Mind reader, you can see inside my head

Seeing you it all comes to a head

The thought comes into my head

I’ll love you until I’m dead

There’s a part of me that’ll always love you.

The part of me that’s still 13, the part of me that was the beginning of who I am now, not the child but the person. You watched the change, you changed yourself, and we survived that terrible process together, the death of the old us, the horrors of becoming, the fear and loneliness and hope and desire.

And that’s the foundation of who I am today, and you’re there too, imbedded in the cornerstone, along with all the joys and disasters, and I can’t not love you. I love you like I love summertime, or old musicals, or a favorite book. But it’s more than that. I don’t love you like a friend, or a brother, or a lover. Maybe I love you like I love myself. You’re a fragment. You’re a coin I flip, tails for a grudge and disappointment and bitterness, heads for overwhelming tenderness.

And our bodies never meet, you’re so careful to stay a few feet away, but the meeting of our minds is tangible enough for the brush of your fingers to seem irrelevant. And it’s so tragic and so romantic and then tragic again, isn’t it? You’re divorced and too young for that, I’m a virgin and too old for that, and we won’t say those words but we know it in the sidelong glances, in the shapes we draw around in our conversations.

In the scandalously intimate front seats of the car, in the dark and deserted corners on our evening walking, in the quiet of the galleries where we pick apart the art like it will tell us something about ourselves, I can’t bear to look at you for fear of what I’d do. And we’re two ships in the night, a long day together and then a long year apart, and maybe a year becomes forever, because despite our best efforts and egos we aren’t psychic, or perfect, but I think, I hope, we both want otherwise.

And I think about other things too, about your fingertips through my hair, about how we’d laugh, and it would be so strange, wouldn’t it? But if you were the last man on earth, I think we’d be grateful for the apocalypse to leave us to our own devices. And you’re nothing without an audience but I would laugh enough for a whole auditorium, just you and me and the end of the world. But these are foolish things, flights of fancy that die in the sunlight, in the statistics. So I stop thinking about them, about you. And I can go without thinking about you forever, but you’re always there anyway, in the map of my subconscious, in chess and in that christmas card, in showtunes and in shame and in shivers, in dialects and old sci-fi and always, always, in dreams. I hope I’m more than just an old face to you.

Per sognare nell’estate

È una volte splendissima,

Il piú dolce, il piú gioiosa, sempre allegra

Voglio dormire sotto il caldo occhio della grande blu

E stare inutile e pacevole al fine del giorno

Trying to stay motivated with my Italian this summer, so I wrote some small verse using only words I already knew. Notably I could neither remember the word for sun nor sky, resulting in the strange little metaphor above. If someone more learned than I notices an error I would be ever so grateful for a correction, even a snotty or disdainful one! Arrivederci, amici, bacci!

Guys I went to the national gallery in Budapest (where they filmed Shadow and Bone) and this painting had such strong Wylan Van Eck energy I had to share