PATRONIZING
THE ARTS.Oh heyyyy Ballet, wow, you’re reeeeal fun to watch—all those pliés and jetés—good for you!
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Hey, Painting. What are you, like, oils on a canvas? Boy, that’s a priceless way to capture the human condition.
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Whoa, nice beat you got there, Music. Yeah, that’ll never get old. Why don’t you repeat that chorus again? It’s soooo catchy.
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Hey, Literature. What ‘cha got there, some words on paper? That’ll sure come in handy… when I’m in the can!
LOVE josh silverstein.
GPOYW
Just babysitting the cutest half-bunny-half-Narnia-creature, Cupcake.
Tying up loose ends, packing, gnawing, you the drill.
Haha best emails of all time include past teachers sending me pics of strangers they took just for me.
The best.
I just found a note you scribbled for me in your car.
I know you did it there because it’s written in that obnoxious green gel pen you refused to throw away. Even your cupholder was embarrassed to hold onto it.
It’s just ideas and things you thought I would think highly of, the little quips we’d record and swap when things weren’t so polluted.
But I totally forgot about this until i found it in my suitcase today:
“There are some loves I’ve meant, some accidents.”
you wrote.
And then you drew a big arrow in black marker connecting the quote to a sidenote
“Just something I heard somewhere.”
Everyone and their mother can assume how I feel about that looking back. Anyone can draw conclusions.
But it’s not the words.
It’s the fact that you clearly thought twice, got worried, and later on, with a more ‘acceptable’ ink in hand, rationalized a feeling.
I should have known when you drew that arrow.
Have you ever had the feeling that someone changed their privacy settings on Facebook because of you?
I just had that. Three times over.
mmmmm :(
| — | Conor Oberst |
You are what you love, and not what loves you back.
| — | Jack Kerouac (via quotewhore) |
Cupid by Colin Meloy (ft/ Laura Gibson)
originally by Sam Cooke
(via imjustlikeme)
I had someone tell me once that my biggest downfall is that I care so much about caring, that when people don’t meet my caring expectations, I crumble. But in the end, I didn’t even care about that one thing as much as I thought, I just cared that someone else didn’t care at the same level.
Funny that I never really cared about that hypothesis until now.
I think it to be true.
And thus I expect someone to play this at my funeral when I am old and grey and I have burned myself out on loving and caring. Or hypothetically caring.
Late night writing coach advice FTW.
Face of an angel. Lungs of champion.
