a friend. found my blog. i think.

i have no idea how i feel about this. i feel a bit too vulnerable than i wish to be.

edit: i no longer think. i know. he's found it. i hyperventilate.

woody allen trips me up sometimes

Sometimes I walk around with a little fantasy in my head
Of the people I'll meet, the people I've said
Sometimes I'll get these deep urges to journal and to write
and I'll print pictures and pictures and pictures of the things I love
and the things
that mystify.

Midnight in Paris, 2011
But these urges are becoming few and far between
and I wonder if that means my last few relationships with creativity
is leaving me.

And I fear and I fear and I fear

And I fear and I fear

and I fear.

tapioca pearls

Everyone else clambered around, grabbing spots, gasping at the beauty. Whispering rustles and gentle bumps, too captivated to see where they were going.
Joel Meyerowitz
And soon I was the only one standing, and I was blind. Someone - Matthias? - grabs my hand, "Come down here" and I finally settle. But I'm still blind. I grope blindly for my glasses; why can't I see what everyone else sees?
"Can you see the stars?"
Yes, I lie, but all I can see is the heavy weight of the night and smell of dimmed sun. I can't see the brilliance of the stars.
So I give up,
close my eyes,