okay so my mom comes in and begins this conversation like a sex talk
and then it ends up being about stock
like stock in the stock market
im in boredom-shock
You are at the doctor’s office and he has just informed you that you have approximately one month to live. Do you tell anyone/everyone you are going to die? What do you do with your remaining days? Would you be afraid?
I would tell my very best friends, and obviously my family, first, but in a way that reassures that i would not be scared. I would hate to live my remaining days drowning in pity. I think, though, that having the chance to say goodbye would be better. of course I’d be afraid, but there wouldn’t be anything to do about it. So I’d make the best of it. I’d go skydiving, cliff-jumping, traveling, and just about anything you could think of. I’d fall in love and make terrible decisions and do whatever I could. I wouldn’t worry so much, I wouldn’t try to let go so much. Love, fully and properly.
You are holding onto your grandmother’s hand and the hand of a newborn that you do not know as they hang over the edge of a cliff. You have to let one go to save the other. Who do you let fall to their death? What was your rationale for making the decision?
This sounds incredibly like a pro-choice v. pro-life decision okAY. Well in this decision I would save my grandmother, because she (was) one of the best people I’ve ever known (although I’m betting she would have saved the newborn, given the same choices). Anyways, I’m pro-choice. I don’t know if that’s the end question here but I am.
Are you old fashioned?
Old fashioned to a fault, actually. I hate online shopping and I hate texting and I am in love with typewriters and black&white films and 1920s styles and the jazz age and old-style romance.
Which would you choose, true love with a guarantee of a broken heart, or never loved at all? Why?
True love with a guarantee of a broken heart. ‘Tis better to have loved, and lost, than never to have loved at all. I’d rather have memories and beautiful moments and tragic endings than a bland, colorless line of mediocre years.
For me, telling the truth is easy. I am a writer. I always know where to find the words. The ability to love another, and the reciprocation, comes naturally to me. Never once have I forgotten how to bake muffins, nor have I ever spilled tea on a handwritten poem. My bones hold together and I am solid. I write letters without shaking. I have never wished to sleep forever, soft and quiet, until the universe implodes and everyone is forced to start over again. I remain confident and awake. Changes don’t scare me, empty spaces don’t worry me. I have forgotten the static replay of conversations past and the detailed inventory of lovers’ body parts, sewn together. I know how to let go.
- hipster: im not a hipster im indie
i slept on your side of the bed last night, tried to arrange myself the way i’d arrange myself around your tip-toeing chest, nestled my head into pillows and tried to imagine that blood pulsed through them and they’d shiver at the slightest breeze. there wasn’t one comfortable spot. my neck felt empty, my cheeks cold. i wonder this is how i’ll feel when i’m dead; falling with nowhere to land, breathing with no lungs to speak of. i’d settle for fingers curled around my own, if nothing else. someone to love back, and that is all.
i had this great dream where crystal castles was touring again this summer
and that tickets were only ten dollars
modest mouse on repeat.