I’m a Stoic/I’m not a Stoic
Didn’t find what I needed/Got what I wanted
Carried away should be/Never get carried away should be

Pirates vs. Caesar, the Republic in the balance. Go over a bridge, through a wall, from fire to ice, turn neither left nor right, out the passenger door in the left turn lane, say hello, say goodbye, explain tomorrow, live for the chaos wherever/wear-ever/we’re ever chance might take.

“And the highwayman came riding, riding, riding…”

The annoying thing about translating Greek poetry is that it has too many nouns whose nuance is struggled to be found until the professor reveals that, actually, it’s a name, so that you hate that person for having a stupid name, but with them already being so dead that you're translating their funerary epigraph, what can you do.

The dreams of happiness? The dreams of sweet?
The dreams of some creature named Felix.

You have a Voice. I like that.
Easiest assignment ever- took zero time. Woke up, printed xanga entry, handed in.
It's weird just how much of English class is teachers trying to drum voice out of you. Then you get to the real world and discover that the trick is to find yourself.

1st: italics
2nd: bold
3rd: quoted

My voice doesn’t say whom.

Anti-Turing Test
Whether a computer can correctly determine whether a message has been automatically generated by a computer or composed by a human.

You are a great writer, even if google does think you're a robot.

The problem with shopping at Target is that they have many of what one wants but little of what one is looking for.

Ob’ession

I am very good at writing very bad poetry.

Blue daffodils of silence in a field of crimson drear’,
Virgil, attest to
Nothing
And turn to mine lonely voided plate, 'pon which lay
A thought
Of
The salmon roll, with ricelets hung dropped from seaweed sheath
Askew in throat, wherein the missing plaint,
“O Featherbottom! Hamilton! Virgil! Four!”
Ricochet back down my trachea-“Sir Piddlesworth Uppington Smythe, please pass the wasabi.”

Facebook RSVPing is a protocol dependent on interpersonal relationships as much as on projected attendance.

Breakfast: cereal
Lunch: bagel, yogurt
Dinner: eggs, toast, fruit
Midnight: bacon

“Can never have too much bacon.”

“Millennium…”

It’s amazing how little and how much of the world can change from one glimpse to the next.
(The best I’ve found is Paris Hilton.)

“…We all enjoy the madness ‘cause we know we're gonna fade away…”

She has mastered the fine art of jumping into boxes she cannot jump out of.

Unemerging.

Jump is an overstatement. More like, climb onto the chair next to, and fall down from. It’s adorably awkward in a what-am-I-going-to-do-with-you kind of way.

Searching for meaning in an Oliver Stone movie about George W. Bush should only be done for the sake of rampant overanalysis. The film has a focus-losing hodgepodge that it more amusing for the real-life moments it recalls than for what is actually presented on screen. The film seems to lack any other artistic or thematic purpose until perhaps the final scene, revealing that George W. Bush isn’t a tragic figure at all. For, while the film does explore the myriad of options, he lacks a tragic flaw; thus, it’s instead a farce.

Everyone needs to do something crazyspontaneous over Fall Break at least once.
Everyone needs to sleep through their flight departure at least once.

I’m going to be horizontal now.

There is no problem with delving into illogic and abandoning whatever point was actually supposed to be argued, if there is the opportunity to establish something tangential more aesthetic, be it an admission of the acceptability of lying, or simply an ironic statement regarding the divine.

When the urge to *run* without regard to destination is felt, there are 3 kinds of places to flee to:
1) To a generic location.
2) To a foreign culture.
3) As far away as possible.

Essentially: Columbus, Madrid, New Zealand.

[This list could include the base case: 0) Out of sight, which corresponds to Inside.]

Presidential debate could use a little less accusative and a little more ablative.

Cats operate on a logic, their own.

How geos?
I'm writing an autobiography. I started yesterday.
Oh?! That's awesome. Don't forget the part where mom and dad adopted you from a moose farm.
I'm old enough to finally know?
I guess so, yes.
How geos with you?
I'm applying to culinary school.
Don't forget the part where mom and dad taught you how to grill moose.
Oh, they told you that was moose? It was your second brother. They didn't like him much.
He needed more salt.
I agree. Maybe some curry?

Thai together.

“What’s the difference between green curry and red curry?”
“You could ask the waitress.”
That’s one option. Or, you could go out, get an iPhone, and look it up online.

Contemplating days, dates, and the difference between.

I’m too old for this.

Tears pour out: torn until
The heart lies still
I grieve, for by your leave I will
Know what it’s like to kill.

The wonder of the Internet’s time-wasting potential is encapsulated in an Office throwaway joke about a youtube video involving Cookie Monster singing Chocolate Rain.

When humanity fails, at least we'll have theoretical physics.
“Some have skipped humanity entirely to move straight to theoretical physics.”

If you’re going to die in the upcoming year, you probably shouldn’t starve your immune system for a day.

Server service.

It is a good day when you can get free food, broker free food, and receive free food in commission. Especially when it involves pepperoni, lamb, and $2 bills.

What’s surprising isn’t that a vomit party is needed, it’s how many people need it.

Flash of Genius switches between 3 different genres, almost abruptly: documentary, psychological drama, and legal thriller. The ending is depressing in how it doesn’t deviate from what one would ordinarily expect, but it does reinforce the everyman quality of its hero/the prototypical inventor. The film is not without irony, that the subject’s popular recognition will come not only posthumously, but without his control.

“These foolish games…”

Logic, puzzles, overanalysis, indecision.

“…You were always crazy like that…”

Ruing, my new reply
Will be that I
Plead: I need you to explain why
We cannot again try.

“It's all been done before…”

This election needed to be between past and future, not between political parties. Unfortunately, both futures won their primaries; post-convention, the conflict is dominated by the past. Whoever wins will owe their victory to what they should have been fighting against.

There needs to be debate, but instead rich DC middleaged/oldfolk sit around a table after the feast, in candlelit darkness with the power out, arguing about what went wrong. There is the tragedy of our era. It’s not that things are changing; it’s that things have, and none of who need to realize do.

I’ve already recovered my key. All I can do is watch nostalgically as a 1-term inexperienced governor and a loquacious senator come to town.

[profile temporarily utilized for space]
“…I met a girl who sang the blues / And I asked her for some happy news / But she just smiled and turned away…”

I chose between true and love, and not only was it not my choice, not only didn’t I make it, but I chose wrong. I erred more than can be explained, and probably more than I can ever hope to be forgiven for. The realization of the flaws behind the tragedy doesn’t help the character who still feels the pain of having taken something alive and felt the life squeezed away.

“…I went down to the sacred store / Where I’d heard the music years before / But the man there said the music wouldn’t play…”

I have never been ambitious, content to merely do as I do and let things proceed as they proceed. Stoicism may be a trap, but it is a pleasant one; for there I had everything I ever wanted: lost, found, and regained- everything save time. And does one say to the victorious de Leon, but now what?

“…But not a word was spoken…”

Goodbye, truth: you are a glorious incarnation, but I am not yours, and weren’t ever. I tell people I’m a pathological liar. They still don’t believe me.

“…The three men I admire most…”

I am 3 people: who I was, who I became, and who I will be.

“…Bye-bye, Miss American Pie... ”