22 March 2011

March 23, 2011

“In a nightmare I am falling from the ceiling into bed beside you…”

I’ve been listening to The Antler’s album on repeat, finding different meanings in different contexts for the exact same things. Cut to a window. Cut to a photograph. Cut to a bowl of oatmeal. It will mean different things every time.

Grammar was made for man, not man for grammar.

You look at these people who have made the most difference. Kerouac, Ginsberg, Vonnegut, Wallace. Rules? Fuck rules. Only a fool thinks that writing is about grammar, design about 3rds, love about honesty.

It’s easy to confuse what you do all day long with who you are.

One time, I tried to start a blog about controversial things. It was going to be very honest and intelligent, and I was going to talk about all the things that everyone else was afraid to bring up. It didn’t last, of course. I had nothing to say.

Now that I know I have nothing to say, I want to talk about everything. I think it took the pressure off.

Yesterday, I saw a woman cross the street with her sweat pants pulled up to her knees. She had tattoos on the backs of her calves, and she looked left and right and left and right as she ran across the lanes. Her hair was in a hairnet. She had a disney backpack. It didn’t mean anything, the fact that I saw her. Nothing at all. But I watched it happening and I thought: “This is what’s happening right now.”

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