Have you ever missed someone so much that you constantly think about them all day, to the point where you feel miserable doing anything else?
God wants religion
to be a barrier
To divide all the different people
Who stood side by side.
God wants hypocrisy
And constant war.
Common sense
He wants to ignore.
God wants exploitation,
His voice to be heard
And to spread diseases
that will never be cured.
He wants riches,
“It’s my word,” he’ll cry.
While millions of people Fall down. And die.
Well Here I am God,
doubting your existence, questioning your omnipotence.
To you the suffering world pleads their case,
to all you refuse to show your face,
in the eyes of the believers and the congregation,
I am condemned to hell, deserved of damnation.
But because I choose to think freely,
I do not have to listen to the merciless cries from the imaginary deity.
- a youtuber
How high will the sycamore grow?
If you cut it down, then you’ll never know
And you’ll never hear the wolf cry to the blue corn moon
For whether we are white or copper skinned
We need to sing with all the voices of the mountains
We need to paint with all the colors of the wind.
An uncindy thing to do would be to check the weather and not abide by the rainy weather conditions by wearing open toed shoes and having no umbrella.
Basically, I’m at a citadel, skimming through Google reader and checking Facebook and Gmail while drinking some milk tea from Tealuxe, a tea bar and cafe.
Otherwise known as the library.
a week of living in the attic of a prehistoric house, rehearsing the lines of the invisible man, counting arabidopsis thalia fruits, waiting for Elvin to be on Skype while I watch episodes of America’s Top Model (I know Teyona won), reminiscing about the time where I left my meds in the drawer of the desk in room 427 West Address (oh wait, it was today), and eating take-out food everyday (horray inept cooking skills).
one week and then heaven…in sunny San Diego with the love of my life: Elvin.
GET ME OUT OF HERE
I spent 30 minutes on amazon.com looking at books I want to read. It’s past midnight and I want to go to The Rock to snatch a Emile Durkheim, Max Weber and Brown University’s own Omer Bartov. I should be studying.
Cheers to midnight munchies, dim lights, scraps of food in between comp. keys and unshaven legs.
My secret for authentic and historically-rich clothing: second-hand stores. Although it may be the contrary, most of the items I find are impeccably preserved and reasonably priced, housed in an environment that may not be as lavish as a department store, but definitely an area that is committed to recycling goods and providing for the disadvantaged. Second-hand stores are my melting pots of creativity, embodying a retrospective flare, a diverse fashion, and, above all, a conscientious heart.
The hand is not only a tool to grip and throw and the foot is not only a structure that interfaces with the ground every day, but both are bodily tools of my consciousness that are part of an integrated system for human self-defense. I want to use my hands and feet dynamically and fluidly to defend myself.
