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[12 Mar 2008|01:24am] |
I'm afraid that I'm forgetting all of the beautiful moments in my life.
Is there any point to them if I can't recall them later?
I need to start taking pictures. In a year, none of this happened.
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[12 Mar 2008|01:28am] |
Remember:
The dark sky, the long, wet grass. The pick axe heavy in my hand. I swung, a small loop against the sky. When you strike a certain rock in this yard, it sparks; its beautiful every time.
I miss the rock but at the same moment a firework explodes in the sky, two houses down at most. A glowing, exploding ball of light, with all the brilliant ephemerality of those dandelions I've been picking day after day. It lights up our faces. We hoot, we holler. Mescaline raging through their minds, confused awe through mine. "HOLY FUCK! I made that! I made that!"
AND
Outdoor stairwell, El Camino College. The bitter cold, the Steve Reich in the headphones. I push my thoughts over the minimalistic pulse, "Truth is beauty, beauty truth. Truth is beauty, beauty truth. Truth is beauty, beauty truth." I still only partially understand it.
AND
Driving home from long day of hedonism, I find myself admonishing myself out loud for the first time in my life. "Stop being so stubborn about your failure."
I don't understand any of this, and I'm not making it any easier.
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skemogorilla's journal