makes me think about the difference between eastern and western ideals:
Theres strives for perfection under perfect circumstances; ours prefers fluidity under real ones. The dancing in the video cannot be matched by anything in the real life, because the rigidity that was created could not have come out of spontaneity.
The topic of discussion may have been the cold war, but that was certainly not the reason. Her argument revolved around communism always turning into corruption - or something along those lines. But her plead was for our relationship to change – from its own corruption. She believes her attempt to foster a loving relationship had fallen short and into the one thing she always feared: my manipulation of it.
I lost my ipod about a week ago and was stuck listening to the radio. At first it wasn’t that bad – the playlist that I had always put on had grown to be a bore, and at first, the radio seemed like a pleasant change.
But now, a week later, I’ve grown sick of what constitutes good music. Most radio stations promise a variety or at worst they promise to play the top 50 songs. Seems harmless. But the songs blur into an I’m-better-than-you hip-hop genre. Mainstream music makes no attempt to capture what its like to be human – only what its like to be some awesome celebrity. Well I don’t give a fuck how many bitches are over you or how much money you make.
I want to believe that music can unite us. Not tell us who is better and how.
So now I skip through the songs for the advertisements and the filler talk – at least they have some originality.
not usually a huge fan of hip-hop songs and their lyrics but i liked this line: “And your heels so high / That you can’t even have a good time.”
Why is it that I NEED to make something of every night?
I am desperately trying to cram my life with parties and friends thinking it will give me some kind of fulfillment - and what a desperate attempt it is. I’ve become embarrassed about the nights that I devote to myself.
I went to get a midnight snack (well hardly midnight actually). I got a sandwich – a toasted turkey BLT to be specific. I couldn’t wait to get to my car to eat it since a cold sandwich is never as good. But there was a car parked next to mine. It had two teens in it and I could only imagine what they would think of a me – alone in a car noming on my sandwich. “What a loser.” “This is his Friday night.”
It’s pathetic how two strangers sitting could make me so insecure. Then again, they were in their car on a friday night with nothing to do - together but probably just as alone. And more likely than not they weren’t judgmental, maybe even somewhat envious though they’d never admit it.
I’ve spent countless hours trying to make something of a stale night. Truth is, there really isn’t that much to do but we pretend otherwise trying to find even the smallest story to add to our narrative.
I was eight playing Supermario
but every time I failed, every time I lost a life
I would flick it off and on
I had to win perfectly
so I could never get passed level three
except one time I did
the game became so unfamiliar
that I flicked it off and on
