Tuesday, September 09, 2003

Check it:

"According to VanGogh,' Art is ultimitely concerned with the 'creation of' and not the end result.' Our lives are like works of art. Too often people paint their lives with the narrow goal of a single end result rather than just creating. To create is to live." -Jess (really cool friend)
18:06

Monday, September 08, 2003

well, now in english we are to put all our interesting thoughts in the "juornal" deal. so its basicaly just cutting all things from this and writing it into this new figure.

A few things:
Why cant i ever say the right things are the right times? why cant i be the one she wants to be with?

Ive relized that i dont remember faces very well, but places i remember just dandy. Run that through you brain.

I sneeze when i look into the sun, or when i go from a dark place to a light place. Well not so much now, but i used to everytime back in the day.

Love is a tricky thing. How are we ever sure?

Why is it that little kids naturaly see the beauty in things? they see pretty flowers in dandilions. Weeds we call them now, but then why when we were younge did we run home to give our moms one that we picked. Or they find the fun things out of seemingly boring items, and can ammuse themselves for hours with the simplest things. Kids are cool.
17:27

Tuesday, September 02, 2003

Man, so another year of school is upon us. The only cool thing about this year is that everyone can drive......i cant wait. just one more month. Then i can leave whenever i want, instead of being like now...where im stuck inside on the LAST DAY OF SUMMER. I hate those words. Oh yay, i do get to go out of the house, mails here. Well, now that thats out of the way...i wish i could drive. Then i know once i can, ill want to drive other people, leagaly. Then once that happens....Im sure ill want something else. This is the life we lead, the one we chose years ago.
13:05

"And this is the end, the car running out of road, the river losing its name in an ocean, the long nose of the photographed horse touching the white electronic line. This is the colophon, the last elephant in the parade, the empty wheelchair, and pigeons floating down in the evening. Here the stage is littered with bodies, the narrator leads the characters to their cells, and the climbers are in their graves. It is me hitting the period and you closing the book. It is Sylvia Plath in the kitchen and St. Clement with an anchor around his neck. This is the final bit thinning away to nothing. This is the end, according to Aristotle, what we have all been waiting for, what everything comes down to, the destination we cannot help imagining, a streak of light in the sky, a hat on a peg and outside the cabin, falling leaves."
-Billy Collins
10:02