save your applause, for the end of the show.

apparently i wrote this in my journal on november 14, 2007:

my head has fallen from my neck,
onto the page.
from a distance i watch it sit there buzzing quietly from caffeine.
this doesn't trouble me. (would it?)
with your head off your shoulders, everything is fine.
life is far lighter. everything is frivilous, but nothing is.
with such a perspective, is your silly existence anything of weight?
si dicat, unus sonat?
when your head lays on the page, drooling thoughts in and out,
does any sound or idea exist?
or are they too levia things, ready to drift
away in only a moment to the nothingness that falls before us, and leave us
still in the question of existence?

i can relate ridiculously well to this song:

the clasp broke at the disco Mom I'm sorry
& the older men who hit on Becky
nearly broke their necks on scattered pearls
& we searched the best we could
for two entire songs we knelt & felt along
the place where we had stood

but we only found 7 of Grandmother's pearls

& as we rode the bus home I thought surely
I'd wake up tomorrow just to find
that I had dreamed up everything
there'd still be pearls on a string
I wouldn't smell like smoke & I'd still
have the cash that I had spent on drinks

oh I feel as scattered as Grandmother's pearls

-casiotone for the painfully alone.

hello friends,
pray for stephannie.
she makes stupid decisions.

what i learned in college today:

aliens and robots are not exempt from the moral law of reason.

thank goodness.

sometimes i decide to write my papers at two am.

sometimes i am an idiot.

we are a useless generation,
obsessed with talking about change then getting drunk.

reaaaaaaalize that the sun don't go down,
it's just an illusion caused by the world spinnin' round.

this has been on repeat in my head for the past three weeks.