Friday, February 12, 2016

Why do people take pictures of art at museums?


Why do people take pictures of the art at museums.

It makes no sense.

Neither does the way we pursue the ocean and then shriek at its cold touch.

Neither does the way we imprison ourselves in claustrophobic rooms to ride stationery bicycles and hate it every step of the way.

But seriously, why do people take pictures of art at museums. 

Options: To upload it to social media. To have and to hold within their phone's memory. To manifest physically the aprecciation for something as abstract as aesthetical pleasure. 

Why do people take pictures of art at museums.
It makes no sense.
And I like it that way.
Not everything has to make sense.
Not even human behaviour.
Particularly, not human behaviour.

Thursday, February 4, 2016

Boys



Some boys are so perfect. And yet they commit the imperfection of just not captivating you.

Some boys are highly imperfect. And yet they haunt your brainspace so often that they start defying your natural human egotism and its tendency to only think about its own self, forever.

Sometimes you fall in love. You laugh at how ridiculous it all is.
Because you can fall in love with the drugaddict
The dude that kisses like a slob
The one that is ugly as shit
The narcissitic nerd fuck
The one that's never ever spoken to you
The one that makes you suffer ever so much

And yet you love them.

You know what I find alarming about this? I've only fallen in love with five boys in my life.
And I'm afraid I love each of 'em still.

Tuesday, February 2, 2016

Night life



Things taste different when had under starlight. And by “taste“ I mean feel, look, hear, impress.


Thoughts appear like vivid realities. We think it to be an actual possibility that we'll read all the books and then somehow learn ourselves out of being flat and predictable people.

Theaters work their magic at nighttime. So do jazz concerts. We get drunk and high when the sunlight is gone partly because we have hope during those hours that this will somehow lead unto charmingly funny stories.

Insomnia hits at night not because those are the times when we are supposed to sleep, but because they are the times when we dream the most.

Food tastes better, in spite of our knowledge about how calories kick the hardest when you don't have a number of hours of activity to burn them through.

Kissing feels less awkward. In fact, it feels sorta magical. The saliva on your chin isn't as terrible. Your Mom is less likely to recognize you if she drives through that park. 

You feel thinner and your pimples tend to dissappear.

Revolution appears attainable and doesn't even scare you.

Life seems wonderful.

And then the sun comes up.

Good news: It can sometimes be pretty cheersome during the day.
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