2001-07-09|10:43 p.m.
Yes, another long day.
Two more weeks of summer school left.
I am so tired.
Boys make me weary.
Ok, I ranted.
Every time I read a clever lyric or hear some one say something witty�I fall in love. And I used to think it was with the person. I have a confession�I fall in love with ideas. I would stalk Einstein�s Theory of Antigravity. I�d write love notes to a Bob Dylan song. I�d sleep with Bosh�s Garden of Delights on the first date. Oh my, I am in trouble. If I fell for boys I could never have�I�d at least chalk it up to something tangible. With this�what am I supposed to do? With boys I could blame it all on them (or their mothers)�with a painting, um, it doesn�t work. I think I am gonna make myself a pair of nice looking concrete shoes and take a swim in your mind.
In a computer class I took a couple of semesters ago, my teacher told us that someday they (you can fill in the blank as to who) will invent chips that fit to your feet that are networked through your body and lead up to your hands that will link you with another person, where you can both exchange information at a handshake. You will be able to figure your compatibility in an instant. And even though this really bothers me, I am not impressed. Music has been doing this for us since Mozart probably. Look at all the people that �hook up� at concerts. Instead of wasting your breath in long conversation, ask the other person what their favorite band is. Fan of Limp Bizkit? Um, I think I have to wash my hair that night. Fan of Modest Mouse? How does Friday sound for you? Why do we even bother talking at all? Skip salutations. Upon meeting someone scream out your genre. Your chosen music type, like �emo� or �hard-core�, can replace zodiac signs. The funny thing is that I am not even complaining. I just find it funny. Why the medium of music? I must admit in smaller, nerdier circles I belong to, writers can even replace bands. I just wonder what we look like under all our preferences. Could I ever give a girl/boy a chance that liked reggae? If he was toting a copy of Keep the Aspidistra Flying, perhaps. Maybe, we are past all those things like skin color. Who cares about that, when it�s a Celine Dion album in his walkman?
Sometimes I want to be the worst version of myself just so I can show you how I do know I can never be the best one.
Rilke excerpt:
�She followed slowly, taking a long time,
as though something had not yet been surmounted;
and yet as though, after a crossing over,
she would no longer walk, but fly.�
Word of the day: plenitude- the quality or state of being full/ completeness