Boiling blood
Finished Rosetta tour poster
It is now the last day of spring break and it seems I am no closer to completing my thesis than I was seven days ago.
Part of this may be due to a certain metaphysical drunkenness and sensate fantasy that arises with the coming of Spring. The earth melts and the air changes. The window is open and some bundle of neurons begins to fire uncontrollably at the smell of the thaw. Nostalgia (the irresistable escapist fantasy of the INTP) becomes the lens for the present moment, and as distinctions between past and present inevitably blur, the sensory now begins to feel dream-like, simulacral. The experience is not that of this spring, or any other spring, but every spring as far back as memory reaches, all at once, amplified. Like déjà vu in reverse and on speed.
It's time for mating and killing. Generally speaking, if we can't do the former, we do the latter.
Labels: Personal
posted by M. Weed at
2:30 AM
4 Comments:
"the sensory now begins to feel dream-like, simulacral. The experience is not that of this spring, or any other spring, but every spring as far back as memory reaches, all at once, amplified. Like déjà vu in reverse and on speed"
dude, you're such an N.
Haha, but so are you. And anyway, what are you doing reading this at 8am on a Sunday morning?
so i can start my day with you (and dead frogs)!
why else?
haha amazing
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