| it really bothers me when you do that.
(i'm jealous) |
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| what's interesting now is i live on both sides of the lines i keep drawing. this is a double standard; i live a lie. actually, a lie inside of a lie inside of another lie. whether this makes me an awful person, or the realization of this makes me a slightly less awful person, i don't know. i think the results of all of these paradoxes will convey a clearer answer.
comfort is a strange, strange phenomenon, wouldn't you say?
i don't know what i am doing here. this is kind of an awful situation. |
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| it's hard to tell whether you hate your life or other people's lives that are in your own |
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| prokofiev piano concerto no. 1, first movement (first part)
there's something so creepy and foreign about this video, but p.s. this concerto rules ass |
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| "I close my eyes and see a flock of birds. The vision lasts a second, or perhaps less; I am not sure how many birds I saw. Was the number of birds definite or indefinite? The problem involves the existence of God. If God exists, the number is definite, because God knows how many birds I saw. If God does not exist, the number is indefinite, because no one can have counted. In this case, I saw fewer than ten birds (let us say) and more than one, but did not see nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, or two birds. I saw a number between ten and one, which was not nine, eight, seven, six, five, etc. That integer--not-nine, not-eight, not-seven, not-six, etc.--is inconceivable. Ergo, God exists"
i am sick and i feel awful. i hate being sick. i feel personally smited by god every time i am sick and i find it ironic that there is only a god when i want to blame things on him.
i played a recital in which i got hideously nervous yesterday. i fucked everything up, but the girl i was playing for said that i should "cheer up because we are all growing in this field." this is uplifting because i try really, really hard and i'm not good yet but one day i will be. it goes back to william blake and the redemption offered by one's dreams. i am humiliated and i cry out every time i think of how i played, but someday it will be different. i'll just have to wait. . .
that's all. i wanted to let my tiny journal know that i'm under the weather and feeling blue, but that there is literature and music anyways. |
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