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6.18.2005

 
Too much to cover since our last installment so we will just start from now. If you wanted to know every detail the only life you could ever read would be your own.

I've spent a lot of time analyzing the girls that are in my age-group through their various comments and expressive outlets and I've managed to glean a fair account of what they want themselves and the rest of the world to be like. Everything should be soft-glow, love obsessed, starry night conversations and secret glances, sadness should come in inspirational waves between hand holding and dancing. Here's the thing though: life is not a Death Cab for Cutie song. At best those things are transitory, and they don't hold a candle to something as mundane as taking a nice shit, which your body does all by itself and is one of the easiest, most natural things in the world. For every coy, over the shoulder self-portrait of a girl with razor cut bangs I see I will punch someone in the face or lick their eyeball. I am going to balance out the dreamy, cerebral patter with some abrasive physical awareness. I'm not saying don't be happy, just realize the difference between really being happy and some goddamn song lyrics.

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