Or just SJ.
Broken brain. Fractured heart. Killer smile. Wicked sense of humor.
In the face of the beautiful-awful-tragic-absurd-mundane-heartbreaking-impossible-wonderful,
all I can think to say is:
and even this...
“I record my life, sifting and trying to separate what is real from what I’ve dreamed. I have decided not to tell you what is fact versus what is unfact primarily because (a) I am giving you a portrait of the essence of me, and (b) because, living where I do, living in the chasm that cuts through thought, it is lonely… come with me, reader. I am toying with you, yes, but for a real reason. I am asking you to enter the confusion with me, to give up the ground with me, because sometimes that frightening floaty place is really the truest of all. Kierkegaard says, 'The greatest lie of all is the feeling of firmness beneath our feet. We are most honest when we are lost.' Enter that lostness with me. Live in the place I am, where the view is murky, where the connecting bridges and orienting maps have been surgically stripped away.”
— Lauren Slater
“I want to be remembered as the girl who always smiles even when her heart is broken, and the one that could always brighten up your day even if she couldn’t brighten her own.”
AIM: andeventhis
Email: andeventhis[at]aim[dot]com
This is freakin stunning. And I love this song. Repeat please.
Breathtaking.
This is my channel…http://www.youtube.com/user/jsgbklyn
It started as a way to document my quitting smoking process and progress. Im still gonna do that but I wanna do more.
If you haven’t subscribed yet, please do so. The fist few videos are dumb long but they get shorter as they go on.
Please reblog. Or whatever. Appreciate it.
Go watch her!
I am looking at my life.
I am looking at my choices.
This letter, posted on Letters of Note, almost made me stand and cheer at my desk. Explanation below:
“In August of 1865, a Colonel P.H. Anderson of Big Spring, Tennessee, wrote to his former slave, Jourdan Anderson, and requested that he come back to work on his farm. Jourdan — who, since being emancipated, had moved to Ohio, found paid work, and was now supporting his family — responded spectacularly by way of the letter seen below (a letter which, according to newspapers at the time, he dictated). Rather than quote the numerous highlights in this letter, I’ll simply leave you to enjoy it. Do make sure you read to the end.”
Oh my god this is the best.
There’s nothing that dries the pussy up faster than “Motownphilly”. You’re stroking the pussy good and all of a sudden you hear that
“SCHOOBYDOOBYDOOOPPAPA Motownphillys back agaaaaaaaaain”
I rarely ever have music on during sex but this shit happened enough times to not make me change my mind.
I had to choke back laughter in this damn classroom.
I cannot breathe.
At the bottom of the drawer was a thin album of drawings I had done, including one (crayon on oak tag, age eight) of a teddy bear crying hysterically, wearing deely boppers and holding a windmill. In thick black crayon, I had scrawled the following across the bottom of the page:
“Teddy bears are best because they understand it’s nice to be alone.”
“Jesus,” I said out loud, and brought the drawing to the kitchen table where my parents were reading the paper.
“You didn’t think this was cause for concern?”
My mother studied the drawing. “You were always kind of old for your age, if you know what I mean.”
“Yes, I’ve heard that profound depression is a sign of maturity.”
