I know that it's totally uncool to care about people, and not to be looking out for NUMBER ONE!!!!!!1! I'm sure I would be way more awesome if I could just make snide remarks about people who care. I wish I could chant "Drill, baby, drill," without any worries floating in my head. But I can't do that anymore than I can restrain myself from fleeing to Canada if there is even a somewhat likely shot that Sarah Palin will be my president. Now, Barack may not be our great white hope or our silver bullet or our force of change. He's not Yoda, for shit's sake. It seems like everyone on tv thinks that I, and other Democrats, believe that Barack Obama is perfect and infallible. I don't believe that he poos flowers, or that his morning breath smells like sunshine. But I do believe that he brings people together, because he does. People are excited about this election because it is really amazing when people connect with each other. We realize that maybe we actually do care about each other and want to make the world a more beautiful place to live. I'm voting for Barack Obama because people can be forces of change, and people can make this country better, not because I'm putting all my faith in one guy. And I should reiterate that I'm also voting for Barack Obama because Sarah Palin scares the crap out of me. Word.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Saturday, September 06, 2008
their sad story of harmony and divergence
"I have not broken your heart-- you have broken it"
Heathcliff to Cathy, Wuthering Heights
You don't want to be the type of girl who uses tricks and schemes to trap a boy. So, you don't. Besides, games aren't any fun unless you really know how to play. You love yourself unconditionally, and hope that it's enough. You like being alone, or at least, you're used to it. To be honest, it's the only way you know how to be. And there's the thought in the back of your head, that old rhyme that if you learn to love yourself, then love will find you. But it doesn't find you, because the Disney movies lied, and there is no perfect person anyway, because there are no perfect people. Then you try to think logically, and you consider that maybe this takes work. What kind of work? You don't even know how to date, for heaven's sake. You're not afraid of getting hurt, in fact, you want to get hurt, because at least then you'll have felt something stronger than apathy. So, you try something with the boy you think might finally be worth the bother. And it works, it's almost scary how easy it is. But it's just a game, it's a trick, it's a scheme, and you knew from the start that it wasn't the way to go. Predictably, it falls apart, not because of him, but because the whole thing was fucked from the start. You sit there, feeling empty, and you are completely, maddeningly aware that it's all your fault. You have broken your own heart, and it hurts. So what do you do now? Do you put your own picture on the bullseye?
Sway
Since I find you will no longer love,
from bar to bar in terror I shall move
past Forty-third and Halsted, Twenty-fourth
and Roosevelt where fire-gutted cars,
their bones the bones of coyote and hyena,
suffer the light from the wrestling arena
to fall all over them. And what they say
blends in the tarantellasmic sway
of all of us between the two of these:
harmony and divergence,
their sad story of harmony and divergence,
the story that begins
I did not know who she was
and ends I did not know who she was.
-Denis Johnson
Heathcliff to Cathy, Wuthering Heights
You don't want to be the type of girl who uses tricks and schemes to trap a boy. So, you don't. Besides, games aren't any fun unless you really know how to play. You love yourself unconditionally, and hope that it's enough. You like being alone, or at least, you're used to it. To be honest, it's the only way you know how to be. And there's the thought in the back of your head, that old rhyme that if you learn to love yourself, then love will find you. But it doesn't find you, because the Disney movies lied, and there is no perfect person anyway, because there are no perfect people. Then you try to think logically, and you consider that maybe this takes work. What kind of work? You don't even know how to date, for heaven's sake. You're not afraid of getting hurt, in fact, you want to get hurt, because at least then you'll have felt something stronger than apathy. So, you try something with the boy you think might finally be worth the bother. And it works, it's almost scary how easy it is. But it's just a game, it's a trick, it's a scheme, and you knew from the start that it wasn't the way to go. Predictably, it falls apart, not because of him, but because the whole thing was fucked from the start. You sit there, feeling empty, and you are completely, maddeningly aware that it's all your fault. You have broken your own heart, and it hurts. So what do you do now? Do you put your own picture on the bullseye?
Sway
Since I find you will no longer love,
from bar to bar in terror I shall move
past Forty-third and Halsted, Twenty-fourth
and Roosevelt where fire-gutted cars,
their bones the bones of coyote and hyena,
suffer the light from the wrestling arena
to fall all over them. And what they say
blends in the tarantellasmic sway
of all of us between the two of these:
harmony and divergence,
their sad story of harmony and divergence,
the story that begins
I did not know who she was
and ends I did not know who she was.
-Denis Johnson
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