a journal of sorts

1. make a syllabus for yourself - books, media, places, recipes

2. complete 40% of it

unauthorized fucking thing!!!!!!

(warning: loud chirping throughout)

Gardens are also good places to sulk. You pass beds of spiky voodoo lilies    and trip over the roots    of a sweet gum tree,    in search of medieval    plants whose leaves,    when they drop off    turn into birds if they fall on land, and colored carp if they    plop into water. Suddenly the archetypal    human desire for peace    with every other species    wells up in you. The lion    and the lamb cuddling up. The snake and the snail, kissing. Even the prick of the thistle,    queen of the weeds, revives    your secret belief in perpetual spring, your faith that for every hurt    there is a leaf to cure it.

by Edna St. Vincent Millay

And what are you that, wanting you, I should be kept awake As many nights as there are days With weeping for your sake?

And what are you that, missing you, As many days as crawl I should be listening to the wind And looking at the wall?

I know a man that's a braver man And twenty men as kind, And what are you, that you should be The one man on my mind?

a close up to just... light shining through those waves, makes me feel faint with exhilaration every time

We two boys together clinging, One the other never leaving, Up and down the roads going, North and South excursions making, Power enjoying, elbows stretching, fingers clutching, Arm'd and fearless, eating, drinking, sleeping, loving, No law less than ourselves owning, sailing, soldiering, thieving, threatening, Misers, menials, priests alarming—air breathing, water drinking, on the turf or the sea-beach dancing, Cities wrenching, ease scorning, statutes mocking, feebleness chasing, Fulfilling our foray.