I can't say it like I write it...I can't write it like I think it...I can't think it like I feel it...and I don't feel a thing.
Sunday, May 16, 2004
for whatever reason, being by myself, laying on the couch, reading, and listening to sufjan stevens seems like an appropriate way to spend my last saturday night here at school.
He heard the words drag out. He felt them pull out of his mouth like freight cars, jangling, backing up on each other, grating to a halt, sliding, clinching back, jarring, and then suddenly stopping as roughly as they had begun. It was over. --Flannery O'Connor, "The Barber"
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