They slowed down Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony so it stretched over 24 hours. The effect was of a continual climbing, with no resolution – just an ever-building terror, the slowest imaginable scream. In a state of heightened time, everything reduces to fear, a sublime fear. If life has any meaning, it comes at the end.
my inner thighs have been getting quite a bit of attention from mosquitoes lately which is a hell of a lot more than i can say for my boyfriend. *ahem*
Could someone please explain the phrase “he/she has a great body” to me? Because let me tell you that makes no fucking sense.
If you have a great body, where did you obtain it? Furthermore, who were you before acquiring this body? If you were to gain weight or lose a limb, would you then have to exchange your great body for a just-okay one?
Guys, I’m going to tell you something right now and I want you to read it a couple times and think about it: your body is your only lifelong partner.
You can’t get a new one – this is all you got. You can’t hate your body without hating yourself. You can’t make your body look the way you want it to without loving it. Loving it means taking care of it, giving it the things it needs, listening to it when it’s trying to tell you something.
Whether your body is “great” should be the last of y’all’s petty concerned. Ask yourself whether you two are happy together. Ask yourself whether you’re treating your partner right.
(Because, psssst, here’s the kicker: you don’t have a body; you are a body.)
If you come from a long line of extremely fertile women, you may spend every fourth Tuesday jumping up and down in the hopes that gravity might speed along your bleeding. Because yeah, you’re on the pill, but so was your mother exactly 21 years ago.
If you come from a long line of extremely fertile women, you may keep your fridge stocked with orange juice, because you read once that Vitamin C can be an abortifacient. You allow yourself to get way too worked up on Period Day, because some people told you stress can also get the job done. You resent girls who can afford to resent pre-menstrual bloating and cramps – these are your longtime friends, these are bearers of glad tidings.
If you come from a long line of extremely fertile women, you probably have a speech prepared, just in case. “Dear Partner, I love you very much but I do not want this baby of yours. I ask for your support as I deal with this. I ask you to respect my choice even if you do not agree. I hope you will still love me after I’ve flushed all traces of you from my body.”
During your childhood, your grandmother may have asked you on several occasions what you’d like to be when you grow up. A doctor, you’d say, or maybe a writer or maybe a pastry chef.
"What about a mother?" she’d ask without fail.
This idea would never have occurred to you, but to appease her you’d say, “Yeah, maybe,” which would make you a practiced liar by the age of eleven. You have never wanted children but this is not something a long line of extremely fertile women wants to hear.
Sometimes you may wonder whether the religious right had a point, if you should maybe stick to abstinence until you’ve got a white picket fence at the ready, but coming from a long line of extremely fertile women has taught you the power of choice. You are not ashamed of your choices because the extremely fertile women before you were not ashamed of theirs. You know you can have everything – yes, everything – because you live where you do and when you do. You know you’re here because your mom wanted you here, wanted so badly to meet you and to be your mom.
If you come from a long line of extremely fertile women, there is no earthly reason why you can’t choose to be the end of the line and still be your mother’s daughter.
proposed new terms & conditions for youtube:
if you can’t say anything nice don’t say anything at all, punk.
I think I am the only English major in Boulder who still doesn’t know who M. Night Shyamalan is.
The only heaven I’ll be sent to is when I’m alone with you.
You have your eyes trained so far ahead.
How can I keep up?
How can I compete with the horizon,
with everything you expect to find
between now and the edge of the world?
You say you see me there but I’m still
tying my shoes, unchunking my mascara,
waking up shaking from dreams of killers
and reaching out to find you there,
to take comfort in the shape of your breathing.
You see I need so much right now,
food and sleep and music but mostly you,
so I just don’t know how I’m going to make it
all the way to the horizon
if you leave before me,
if you promise you’ll meet me there.