A Collection of Spectacles


Written on an Airplane: 30,000 miles high, 500 mph. Houses, trees, and plots of land form intricate images and shapes. When designing such layouts, did landscapers and architects ever think that one day the full weight of their work would be viewed from aerial heights? Cars on highways look like ants trapped on mounds of dirt, or on a more abstract scale, like blood cells as they travel through the capillaries and veins of the body. Plowed fields, buildings, and backstreets sometimes twist and turn, resembling the compact coils of the intestine, creating mock images of the folded up tissue of the brain.

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The Classified Ad: Looking for an overly imaginative, emotionally intuitive individual who is willing to transform their body into a wonderful vessel that will carry the load of my unusual (and at times overbearing) brand of devotion. Who’s willing to be pumped (wall to wall) with a loving enema of my affection.

I’m trying sarcasm, but I don’t seem to wear it very well.

Again, with seriousness.

Someone who was born inside out. With internal organs that preform their jobs like external appendages. With a heart like sensitive skin. 

Which means that when the cold bitter wind comes it stings, inflicting unbearable pain, immediate indescribable shocks. Contrarily, when the sun’s glorious rays extend out, barely touching, its comforting warmth is felt in canorous notes. A body that is able to feel day to day occurrences like they are emotional avalanches. One that possesses the ability to feel a hidden intensity that most are not privy to. Someone who has always felt unusually in tuned with the world, as if once born a firmly planted tree, insensitively seized, that still holds on to bits of the ground it was once so closely intertwined with. 

In other news: Oh, look. The New School’s in the news. Not for good stuff either.

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