This morning before school I cuddled with her in my bed, nose and lips nestled into her neck, muttering softly between pecks of kisses, “Seven… seven.. seven…” Which in tone and delivery sounded very much like Indiana Jones in Raiders Of The Lost Ark groaning, “Snakes… why did it have to be snakes?” upon seeing the writhing floor awaiting him at the bottom of The Well Of Souls.
YES, IT TOTALLY FEELS JUST LIKE THAT, SHUT UP.
Seven
09/28/2009
Engine
09/21/2009
The surest sign of trouble with me is when people ask me how I am — which they do often these days and with good reason, and I’m honestly more than a little grateful to be asked at all — and I find that I can’t respond, that words literally fail me. When even the standard, stock “fine” rings so false I can’t force myself to utter it — because I’m many things to be sure, but I’m not a liar — oh yes, then I know for certain that I’m in for it.
But still, I don’t know how I’m doing, how I am. Not really. Not so I could tell you. I can’t even tell myself.
In Defense of Kanye West
09/15/2009
I realize that, at the moment, this isn’t exactly a popular position. Please refrain from the pelting with stones and the smearing with animal feces for just a moment, while I try to explain myself.
The past few days have been, well, unkind to Kanye West, and with good reason. I’ve publicly pointed to his antics at Sunday night’s VMAs as being downright douchey myself, and stated in no uncertain terms that I’m in total agreement that West is very much worthy of the backlash he’s experiencing. What Kanye West said and did was rude, childish, and completely out-of-line. None of that is in dispute. His actions were, in a word, indefensible.
HOWEVER.
