I’ve been doing a lot of observation lately. Not for any particular reason, I was just starting to notice commonalities in people on campus. There are a couple of different categories of which I’d like to elaborate on. The goal of my personal observations was mostly to answer the question, “Why is my school called St. C’s?” in addition to the question, “Why do people enjoy going home so much if they’re in college?”
"Let us bring to daylight the impulses of midnight contemplation."
Images from trip to NYC and the Picasso Exhibit at MOMA.
Photos from Fine Arts New York City Trip (Complete Albums)
Complete Albums of the Individual Locations:
Guy Fawkes Day
Blow up my heart
and leave its pieces
slowly gathering in bits
crawling back across the
Reform the shrapnel shards
to unforseen configurations
captured by the phantom pull
of a gravity you do
not know you have.
Hope is dynamite
explodes the past
to ever branching, flowing outward,
starry fingered, curling trails.
Hope is a whisper
to the flying pieces
to settle softly
along the gradient
lines of force
that point in silence
to the future.
Hope is a bomb.
Blow up my heart.
with the snow and the wind and the confused chirps on birthdays, i wonder what it would have been like if i had left. not working with older, beautiful women and younger ones. not wandering through woods and mud and grass with officers at night. not making love to pulp fiction and watching it instead. not cruising through suburban new hampshire roads at three in the morning and not finding the frank lloyd wright house buried behind tree branches. not kissing in the snow and crying in the snow and falling in front of menacing statues of canonized saints. not laughing my ass off to archived conversations on skype. not listening to clean guitar rifts at the wee-hours of the morning in apartments that weren’t mine but felt like home.
the snow was sad and pitiful and desperate. i dressed in the cold and the quiet and hoped for something daring to happen at the witches’ hour. beer and bullshit and dome lights. fog. ice and feathers. like old times.
The Seasons, How It Cames to This, How the Faux-Manifesto, My Mouth, and Good Faith Ended It, and Why Things Organized Neatly Proved Out to Be a Godsend
Repentance is something I thought I had long done away with. What I never realized is that it is a theme constantly replaying in my life. After undergoing the events of the past few weeks, I realize I have some serious atonement to do for past acts.
This summer I called it atonement by work. By working manual labor and beating myself everyday against the walls of houses with my paintbrush I found myself redeemed.
This Fall I have no clue what my atonement will be, all I know is I fucked up and its time to earn my forgiveness. The hard part about this season is I have no idea how to atone for what I have done. This is a new theme.
after two weeks of being gone and after she had already made her decision but kept it to herself, he hugged her tightly, pressing his face against her hair. “you still smell like you,” he whispered, almost to himself. she couldn’t help but hurt for him. the night ahead of them was going to change their entire lives.