All living things contain a measure of madness that moves them in strange, sometimes inexplicable ways. This madness can be saving; it is part and parcel of the ability to adapt.
I think I should write a book which is just comparisons of e-mails I send my mum and then the equivalent e-mail I send my friends on the same day. It would be titled “If these Facebook messages could talk”.
Just started singing to myself in a hostel room because I forgot there was someone else in there. It wasn’t louder than a mumble, so it would have sounded like I was just murmuring to myself like the crazy people who are lining the streets here.
I thought I understood it
That I could grasp it
But I didn’t
I knew the smudgeness of it
The pink-slippered-all-containered-semi-precious eagerness of it
I didn’t realize it would sometimes be more than whole
The wholeness was a rather luxurious idea
Because its the halves that halve you in half
Don’t know about the in between bits
The gore-y bits of you
And gore-y bits of me
Like Crazy (2011)
Well after three months and two days, I’m leaving Whistler in the morning. Now that I’m armed with hindsight, I’m still feeling my way for the words to describe what this was. They’ll come, probably coated with nostalgic longing, but I do need some time away to locate my mind.
I’m off to Seattle on Monday, just cause. What fun!
Today I was listening to this Mumford and Sons song and thinking about if Marcus Mumford wrote it about Carey Mulligan. Probably have too much time to think these days.
Kathleen. In Transit.
The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn’t exist.