strawberry sunflower red

You just explained your train of thought to me for the first time, and I just abstained from comment for the first time.

How our roles have reversed.

If you're the only friend from high school that I can hold onto, I'll still count myself a lucky kid.

listening to: 100 years // virginia belles
reading: The Italian Renaissance // Paula Findlen, ed.

in spite of myself, I still think on you sometimes.

And I find it hard to read when you are writing, harder to write what you are reading.

I had a thought last night that escaped me as I stretched – breathing, hands wide – that all of this is because of you. Irrationality bowled me over and the intenseness of your lack of faith still presses on me. When I am sleeping, when I am working, when I am practicing, you come back to me and lie close down against my chest, making it heave, spinning me around.

In some ultra different universe, where you are like me and I am alone, I imagine you walking through those smooth glass double doors. In my mind’s eye I see my eyes dilating at the sight of you, two years older and finer and smoother like fine liquor drawn from the cask, and doubly inappropriate. I see me as you might, with wilderness in the frame and the sense I’ve let myself go.

listening to: i bet that you look good on the dance floor // arctic monkeys
reading: Korean History notes

I've been pushing the Catullus too hard tonight.

So this is the first new blog in a long, long time.

Perhaps I should introduce myself. I'm a student, a feminist, a martial artist, a horseback rider, and several other things also. I find blogging and pop culture mildly ridiculous, like a big cosmic joke, and I am gunshy.

I need somewhere to make my lists and meanderings and thoughts and wanderings around that happen after there has just been too much Famous Literature (tm) extant in my day.

I am a writer and a lover and a fierce, fierce independent all at once.

listening to: Tegan and Sara // We Didn't do It
reading: Edge of Empire, by Maya Jasanoff