vendredi 18 décembre 2009
mardi 15 décembre 2009
sugar and spice
I don’t like games. I don’t like funny games. I don’t like mysterious games. I don’t like playing games. I don’t like any kind of games.
I am not a ball. I am not a Frisbee. I am not a Lego set. I am not a Barbie. I am not any kind of toy.
GO PLAY GAMES WITH TOYS NOT WITH ME.
I am not a ball. I am not a Frisbee. I am not a Lego set. I am not a Barbie. I am not any kind of toy.
GO PLAY GAMES WITH TOYS NOT WITH ME.
lundi 7 décembre 2009
Help me up PLEASE
Lethargic. That’s how I’m going to start this. So lethargic that reaching for the remote control feels like the New York marathon. So lethargic that reaching for the ashtray seems like a mission to the moon. So lethargic that I always have to be leaning on something to keep me from falling. I am forcing myself to get out of the house. I am going to walk to my lunch. I feel like everything is so long, wrong and boring. I feel like a blob. I big heavy blog of pudding. I’ll put on some Aretha Franklin, hopefully that will give me enough energy to put some clothes on.
jeudi 3 décembre 2009
touch
Touch.
A girl in my Art History class wrote her final dissertation on touch. When I heard about it, I thought to myself…damn…why didn’t I think of that.
Well I am going to write about it now.
Touch.
It is, for me, the most human of our senses. Tactility.
It provides us with contact, and a physicality that seeing, smelling, hearing even tasting lack. That shiver that goes through you when you touch cold glass or metal. Or what about when you run your hands under the tap? Sometimes I keep my hands under running water for a really long time.
What about when you feel heat? When you burn yourself...accidentally of course...and then you have to put toothpaste on it...I hate it when that happens...
What about touching flesh?Someone else’s flesh. Someone elses plump warm flesh. A piece of flesh that you could brush over softly with the palm of your hand over and over again; or sink your nails into until they pierce through.
There is a mother’s touch. That maternal one that reassures you. I guess.
There is a lover’s touch. One that kills you so badly inside.
Without a doubt, they provide you with different thoughts and feelings, but they are both humans communicating in the most sensitive manner.
I don’t feel comfortable writing much more at this point in time…
A girl in my Art History class wrote her final dissertation on touch. When I heard about it, I thought to myself…damn…why didn’t I think of that.
Well I am going to write about it now.
Touch.
It is, for me, the most human of our senses. Tactility.
It provides us with contact, and a physicality that seeing, smelling, hearing even tasting lack. That shiver that goes through you when you touch cold glass or metal. Or what about when you run your hands under the tap? Sometimes I keep my hands under running water for a really long time.
What about when you feel heat? When you burn yourself...accidentally of course...and then you have to put toothpaste on it...I hate it when that happens...
What about touching flesh?Someone else’s flesh. Someone elses plump warm flesh. A piece of flesh that you could brush over softly with the palm of your hand over and over again; or sink your nails into until they pierce through.
There is a mother’s touch. That maternal one that reassures you. I guess.
There is a lover’s touch. One that kills you so badly inside.
Without a doubt, they provide you with different thoughts and feelings, but they are both humans communicating in the most sensitive manner.
I don’t feel comfortable writing much more at this point in time…
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