I continue to be awed by this particular dash on the time line, c'est ligne de temps, of our lives, and with such certainty it seems it will be among the boldest that will ever be marked. How could you look around and not feel yourself in the same envelope as countless numbers of people in such a cliched position? This second adolescence. This fork in our respective roads on which we've been placed, now with an infinite number of prongs to choose from. And with such urgency and dire necessity to choose the strongest, shiniest one that will hold the most delicious and satisfying future of opportunities. How simultaneously cliche and intensely personal. Like walking through a crowded mall and hearing your favorite song, an external experience turned so fiercely private. We have these aspirations that seemed so much more attainable in the form of prospective day dreams and night dreams, during which we so assuredly visualized ourselves wrapped in the brightest fabrics surrounded by our ideal dinner party company. How comparatively dull to open our eyes and find ourselves at the table, staring at our plates, rendered completely incapable of making the most basic of decisions. Chicken or rice, Grad school or New York? Water or beer? National Coalition Against Censorship or Goerings bookstore?
All this food imagery. I must be hungry. And I am. So hungry. Always for more. Wavering from poles of the instantly gratifying and the historically established facts, assuring a future of good health and green poop.
Do I look at my feet and make sure I have the proper footwear to get me from here to my immediate there? Or do I sprint forward into the indistinct distance, trusting that the route to my destination will be well-marked and well-lit and that someone I know will be there to pick me up when I get there, regardless of my footwear?
I've never been one for shoe shopping, though. And I have a decent sense of direction. But I did pick out a loyal pair of Vans once. And I did get lost in France for 9 hours a few years ago.
I'm 3/4 finished with a paper on Eve Sedgwick and Barbara Johnson (which I have typed every single time 'Babar' before spellcheck issues me that red wtf line) and the desire of the Other. "The differences between entities are shown to be based on a repression of differences within entities, ways in which an entity differs from itself." Ugh. How very foxy of you, Babar Johnson. Marry me.
-Mosephine sees fiery pianos washed up on a foggy coast
All this food imagery. I must be hungry. And I am. So hungry. Always for more. Wavering from poles of the instantly gratifying and the historically established facts, assuring a future of good health and green poop.
Do I look at my feet and make sure I have the proper footwear to get me from here to my immediate there? Or do I sprint forward into the indistinct distance, trusting that the route to my destination will be well-marked and well-lit and that someone I know will be there to pick me up when I get there, regardless of my footwear?
I've never been one for shoe shopping, though. And I have a decent sense of direction. But I did pick out a loyal pair of Vans once. And I did get lost in France for 9 hours a few years ago.
I'm 3/4 finished with a paper on Eve Sedgwick and Barbara Johnson (which I have typed every single time 'Babar' before spellcheck issues me that red wtf line) and the desire of the Other. "The differences between entities are shown to be based on a repression of differences within entities, ways in which an entity differs from itself." Ugh. How very foxy of you, Babar Johnson. Marry me.
-Mosephine sees fiery pianos washed up on a foggy coast
