"When his father dropped dead from a heart attack at forty-nine, Willy's sorrow was mitigated by a secret sense of relief. Already at twelve, just barely on the brink of adolescence, he had formulated his lifelong philosophy of embracing trouble wherever he could find it. The more wretched your life was, the closer you were to the truth, to the gritty nub of existence, and what could be more terrible than losing your old man six weeks after your twelfth birthday? It marked you as a tragic figure, disqualified you from the rat race of vain hopes and sentimental illusions, bestowed on you an aura of legitimate suffering. But the fact was that Willy didn't suffer much." Timbuktu, Paul Auster.
Theodore Gericault, Raft of Medusa.
I went Florida this weekend. I have never starved for a day except for under my own volition. But my art hurts.
I went to gather my things the next day and looked everyone in the eye but didn't say a word.
"I'm botching your handwriting here. Oh, do you want to talk about this?"
"No. I do not."
Because I didn't. But I would like to now. I smelled the ocean again and stood in the dark trying to see the horizon. You can't/I couldn't do it. But there were six highschoolers sitting on driftwood txting each other and smoking weed. I think that may have had something to do with it. Also, I stood without shoes and the water was warm and the sand was cold. I had twelve cups of coffee with my father.
I went to a wedding and I felt like I was on a raft, with silk flowers. Holding onto people who died when I knew them and now were falling into the water. I was holding my head and he, the groom, was waving toward the horizon (see above). Everything was beautiful until I started dancing and it started getting warm.
"Godzilla bankroll
Stones from Stilion
Yo I ain't got it all, that means I barely home
Trailblazer stay ballin
Revenge is my arts is crafty darts
While y'all stuck on Laffy Taffy"
-Ghostface
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