Cinema of Transgression

Oh la la la la la la. It's not the Canon XH-A1 3CCD buttttt it's still nice for the price.

I knew a woman, lovely in her bones

I think I'll perpetually be confused. I think from now on when someone asks me how to describe myself, I will say "regrettably confused".

I got a new job and it makes me feel like a little girl playing grown-up. I'm pantomiming all the motions of work, but in reality I'm accomplishing little (presently). I'm so proud of it though, because usually I have shit for luck.

I'm kind of indifferent about college. I don't know if I'm necessarily excited about it? I'm excited to learn. Solution: Carpe Diem I suppose. That seems to be the theme of the past year.

I live in my head too much, but I cant help but daydream. Even when I'm out in the noisiest, craziest setting; even when I'm having fun, my mind drifts.

A great big void

I'm really sick and I am past the point where I care about snotting on everything. I have an appetite but I can taste absolutely nothing. I think Claire is coming over to share in my misery. She is a brave camarade because we are about to fight millions of imaginary ghouls(germs not gents) who are trying to take all my good health. We are also probably about to watch a really bad movie. I'm pretty sure this sickness is making me hallucinate because I keep thinking I see a porcupine. I don't think I've ever come across such a creature in reality, but I hope to one day(hopefully on friendly terms). I am definitely experiencing delirium. Deliriyum.

Check the Czech

Apology

Bird

It was passed from one bird to another,
the whole gift of the day.
The day went from flute to flute,
went dressed in vegetation,
in flights which opened a tunnel
through the wind would pass
to where birds were breaking open
the dense blue air -
and there, night came in.

When I returned from so many journeys,
I stayed suspended and green
between sun and geography -
I saw how wings worked,
how perfumes are transmitted
by feathery telegraph,
and from above I saw the path,
the springs and the roof tiles,
the fishermen at their trades,
the trousers of the foam;
I saw it all from my green sky.
I had no more alphabet
than the swallows in their courses,
the tiny, shining water
of the small bird on fire
which dances out of the pollen.

What happened in the myth where the woman whispered a secret about her husband having ears of an ass into the earth? I wish I could speak with my soul.