somewhatquestionable

we live like lizards; to bask, to sun in the good, summer day. but when that emotional rollercoaster we call life is all gut-wrenching drops and no rises why the hell should we go on? camus's quandary; that we go on, that our lives fly in the face of reason is worth more than all the inspirational quotes in the world.

Lisa would've been fairly ordinary if it wasn't for the things she did in the park. She was pretty in a distracted, wallflower-y sort of way – the kind of girl who would look good in a dress, but who would simply never think to wear one. She was socially inept, quiet, and poetic. She had a tendency to scribble haiku on scraps of paper in math class. She also followed people to the woods at the edge of Garfield Park and watched them have sex. It wasn't a voyeuristic thing, she thought, though she had sometimes felt that strange, rising sensation that she associated with the half-good, half-uncomfortable rubbing of the saddle's pommel, but

there is a new silence between us. if it was a color, it would be the color of shadows, but not the oily, concealing shadows of midnight. it would be the color of shadows at dusk. of pleasant endings, sugar, coffee, cream and Camels. the color of an old tree. the life was green, but the passing but the passing is golden    

endings are a love letter left behind; a scrap forgotten - "dear you..."

Disclaimer: I am leaving up the old argument for sentimental reasons. It's also, like a fossil sample, a nice little cross-section of my psychology. That my argument is sneering, pretentious, angry, and overblown is a cause for concern. NEW: Public school does have value, but not for everyone. It can, and does, teach important social lessons. It can also make students that are different miserable and introduce them to the cruelty of both their peers and the very people who should mentor them. It's not as simple as I said - missing out on public school will not deprive you of a social life. It will not ruin your ability to interact with peo

words, like drugs, mix intoxicatingly; free heaven, simple snow.

When I am sitting in the car, listening to some musician I don't know crooning about Boy Blue and the man in the moon, I want to crunch the window with my elbow, flee into the sky, wishing for a land with a Superman, a land where kids don't grow up like their parents, where laughing too loud is virtuous, where it's okay to be a kid when you are, and you are expected to not be when you aren't, where empathy is the rule and not the exception, where parents don't die and don't let you down, where videogaming is a career, where the land is rich in Mako and glowing green eyes give you superpowers, somewhere that knows that Beats are beatific and b

we are not happy with the current administration. we are staging a protest we are coming to the front gates we do not like the way you deliver your message, Sir because we don't love you no more we don't like your policies your inadequacies put it frank, you don't dance with me you just exist what happened to saving the people the promises made years ago what happened to truth and beauty the days when less went wrong where's our leaders our prophets thoughtful believers? what happened, man what went wrong? we are coming to the gates. we are staging a protest. we do not like the way you deliver your message Sir we are

God, the things I want sometimes were so fucking bizarre it made me want to cry. It would be perfect - or at least easy - if I loved her. Really. Then there'd be a hell of a lot less guilt at least. I mean, sure, having to compare lust and love, that sparks all the guilt indicators, turns on all the 'you're such a fuckhead, Chase' lights in the old reptilian brain-center, y'know? If I could fall back on the 'hey, I love her too, and it wouldn't be fair to you if, y'know' routine. Then I could fuck her in peace. Easy. But I didn't. It was just the shape of her shoulders made me want to toss her on the bed and do her 'till she screamed; the f

"I raid her bra, and roll an eighteen. For tits." The tent shook as we two boys bellowed laughter. Liz glared at us. "No, you don't. You get the plague and die," she said. "Whaaat? Low blow, low blow," Jack said, still laughing. "I take it back!" Mouse-like, Liz stared over her Dungeon Master's Guide. "All right, but you pull a stunt like that again..." She trailed off, brandishing a pencil at him. Jack waved his hands placatingly. "I'm good, honest." He glanced at me, grinning. "We're all full up on tits and gold, Liz. Promise." She huffed. "Do you really have to call them that?" "Yes," he said abruptly. "Can we go again?" Teasing asi