I think he’s just a random dude? I found it on one of those fuckyeah-beautiful-people tumblrs. I WISH I KNEW THOUGH.
Though in the lower standard deviation, I fall, the statistician says,
within the normal range of happiness. Therefore, no drugs today.
What about tomorrow? What if doodling stars isn’t enough?
Will I be asked to color the rainbow one more time?
Name three wishes that might come true?
List everything I’ve been given within a minute?
Though within the normal range of happiness, I score poor
on bird appreciation, poor on oboe joy. My responses, in fact,
seem to indicate an overall confusion concerning joy itself.
What did I mean that during parties I choose the sofa
like a sick cat? That when tattoos are dispensed I’m first
in line? That books full of other people’s misery
make the beach infinitely more pleasant? Stargazing is another weakness.
Too much I examine the patch of dirt where nothing grows
where buried curiosa aren’t deep enough, though in Short Answer
I’m all for dancing alone in a silken robe. Friends call.
Mostly the machine answers. Mozart makes me cry.
I kill spiders without guilt. To make up for this
I take the kids to the golden arches play area.
A positive indicator. Also, interest in the existential
is minimal. I approve of make-up and ice cream.
When I wake early, I get out of bed. When I wallow
in planetary counterpoint, it never lasts. And here’s what really saves me:
if I were a ghost I’d be Casper. If I were a tradition
I’d be a dreidel. I like the rain. When the boat drifts off
I wave. When the dog runs off I follow.
Woah, have to read the whole thing when I have time
One of the best books I’ve read.
Job Number One; Destroying the Paradigm, Not Shifting It. (via wallofbooks)
death to all body commentary
this is why i don’t talk
At last, a reason
not to want to live
forever: the stars
are winking out,
it won’t be apparent
to most of us any time
soon, one here,
one there, it will be
eons before noticeable
holes appear in Orion’s
belt, for example, or
bucket, but just knowing
they’re going out e-
ventually, who would
want to stay on
under what will become
sky, just a few faint grains
of light, too few to make
anything of, nothing
to wish on, hitch
our wagons to, nothing
to lift us out of ourselves,
no pinpricks of hope
in our black box, no reason
to stay, no place to go.
to park and watch the elephants
swaying among the trees
at that make-believe safari
I didn’t know anything that big
could be so quiet.
And once, you stopped
on a dark desert road
to show me the stars
climbing over each other
like an orchestra
thrashing its way
through time itself
I never saw light that way
again.” —Dorothea Grossman, The Two Times I Loved You the Most In a Car (via grammatolatry)