operating on slim sleep and a growly stomach

yet maintaining an air of contentedness.


EDIT EDIT EDIT EDIT

Saw Jean-Luc Godard's film Une Femme Est Une Femme tonight and now have a new favorite to add to the short list that is my favorites. It was amazing. Adorable, funny, romantic, weird, and goode stuff. I just like the way it was made! The cuts! The breaking of the fourth wall! I love it.

(side note: watch this. it's good for cults. good for businesses.)

(side side note: If someone overs you a time machine, it's usually best to turn it down, but sometimes it's best to use it, but maybe first you should see if that someone is a genie. If yes, then ask instead for a glimpse of what life would be had you chosen a different path, a la It's a Wonderful Life. But I bet that's not allowed cause it's along the 'having cake and eating it too' vein. Which if you think about it, is ridiculous, because what fool doesn't want to eat the cake she's just gotten? A stupid one. Always want to have your cake and eat it to.)

(side side side note: (12:06:24 PM) cyphertoast: the weather isn't necessarily bad up here, just angry and spiteful -- if it's snowing and you begin to walk, snow is blowing in your face, if you turn your head to the right or left, snow is still blowing in your face -- if you look down, fluid dynamics be damned, the snow is still blowing in your face)

Quite early this morning, on the tail end of six AM during my walk back to my dorm, I was engulfed in a surprise sunrise. It was gorgeous, and I was juuuuust delirious enough from no sleep to stand there for a few moments and Thoreau the world, for "Morning is when I am awake and there is a dawn in me"

possibly my favorite line from all of Walden.

And as I sat for a bit inside, loving the blades of frosted glass, I took a deep breath in of O Me, O Life! and let out a 42. Was good.

O ME! O life!…of the questions of these recurring;

Of the endless trains of the faithless—of cities fill'd with the foolish;

Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)

Of eyes that vainly crave the light—of the objects mean —of the struggle ever renew'd;

Of the poor results of all—of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me;

Of the empty and useless years of the rest—with the rest me intertwined;

The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?

Answer.

That you are here—that life exists, and identity;

That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute
a verse.

Lookit that. "That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse". The very definition of spittin hot fire is in that sentence.

And I've signed on to doing ten minutes of poetry at this Class thing I'm not sure what it is really, but I've been writing things down and my white blood cells have been engaging in slam battles with their red brethren whenever I drift off in Astronomy lecture (with the organs themselves providing the necessary 'OHHHHHHHHHHH's for hella nice lines), so I'm pretty much diggin the opportunity to perform again.

Started writing that old man poem, did you know he sold his soul to the devil?