My brother and I used to play a game. I'd point to a chair. "THIS IS NOT A CHAIR," I'd say. Bird would point to the table. "THIS IS NOT A TABLE." "THIS IS NOT A WALL," I'd say. "THAT IS NOT A CEILING." We'd go on like that. "IT IS NOT RAINING OUT." "MY SHOE IS NOT UNTIED!" Bird would yell. I'd point to my elbow. "THIS IS NOT A SCRAPE." Bird would lift his knee. "THIS IS ALSO NOT A SCRAPE!" "THAT IS NOT A KETTLE!" "NOT A CUP!" "NOT A SPOON!" "NOT DIRTY DISHES!" We denied whole rooms, years, weathers. Once, at the peak of our shouting, Bird took a deep breath. At the top of his lungs, he shrieked: "I! HAVE NOT! BEEN! UNHAPPY! MY WHOLE! LIFE!" "But you're only seven," I said."Isn't that amazingly sad/beautiful?
The quotes on here point toward a stunning ability to put into words those facts about (my) life that are generally believed to go without saying. Which is a quality (in writers) that always, always wins me over. I was just about to remark that her style reminds me of Jonathan Safran Foer, when I read that he is her husband. Interesting.
A picture of Wes Anderson, because I never really knew what he looked like, but since I've known, his face seems to haunt me. Somebody please tell me who he reminds me of!? He looks uncannily familiar, but maybe his looks just align with some archetype inside me? Also I find him kinda hot, and of course he is also a genius.
My room smells of fresh laundry, I adore it.
I want to surround myself with boundless beauty.