I saw my former best friend's fiance walking in the snow. [ Deleted, the discourse beginning, He's a little bitch, okay?] A walking memory sort of thing that inspires in me fury as sincere as the desire to slit my own throat.
Musicians or other sensualists, in their personal lives, are always looking for something that will move them half as much as what feeds their senses. The euphoria of being spoken too, of hearing the message, is all-consuming, and relationships with other people with their grit and ground-down wit can never approximate. [...] I'm simply not obsessed, or, I have too many obessions; it's my failure as an artist but saves me as a human being. I'm also not even close to being smart enough, but it's always painful to admit that ~Zulieka
Your potential... (leave it alone)
"Leave it as a locked door within yourself. That's how it should be. At least then in your mind the inside will always be palatial...Don't open the door....All you will see is one tiny grey startled cat with diarorhea sitting on a matressless iron sprung bed with its great big eyes meowing at you. ..While an emphazemic landlady untangles her popsocks in the background....That's your potential....Its not going to make you happy. You will be depressed when you find out how little you've got.You don't want to find out that the best you can do, the MOST you could possibly achieve...IF you gave it your all...IF you harvested every screed of energy within you, and devoted your self to improving yourself...That all you would get to is MAYBE.... Eating less cheesy snacks." (Dylan Moran)
We are meaning-making machines. .... Like we’re death machines, alive. ~ the provocateur
Something I learned a while back is that the most effective way of moving out of something, is to fully be with it first. .... Something is always in a state of either growth or decay. Nothing remains in stasis. ~Beautiful and Depraved
I showed him how you’ve got to shock the roots of the plant by squeezing the tangled ball until you start to hear the tearing apart of the tightly wound capillaries. This encourages the roots to spread out into the new soil.
Trauma precedes growth, more often than not. [...]
The thing with plants is this: you’ve got to gently pack away the root system in nutritious new soil after the shock of transplant. If not, It will rot from the roots up.
That’s the thing with plants.
People, on the other hand, tend to take drugs, buy things, have sex, burn fossil fuels, dress tiny dogs in plaid jumpers, or otherwise repeatedly jump into new potentially toxic situations, thirsty and wounded. We consume our surroundings through sensation. Boredom is not much more than root rot.
Each time we have sex, I listen for the sound of tiny roots snapping ~the sunday gap
I keep trying to talk my husband into getting me one of those little mini backhoes like landscapers use? But he says that all I'd do is go around digging holes. Well, duh, yeah, that's what they're for. "In the middle of the night. At random," he adds.
But here again; duh, that's what they're for. If you had a mini backhoe, wouldn't you? Who'd complain? Someone wakes up because their dog is barking and you're out in their front yard in your mini backhoe digging a hole, what? Like they're going to even call 911? "Yes, hello, 911? It's 3:am and there's a native American in a mini backhoe digging up my landscaping?" Please. No way. Especially if it was modified so that flames shot out from underneath it, and had big telescoping spider legs that would unfold out of the sides with pinchers on the end that had black poison dripping off them that would hit the ground and stuff would dissolve into glick and smoke would come up? See, no. You'd have to be pretty stupid to try. ~First Nations