I dreamt that I was at a bar and a woman with a heavy accent who looked like Annie Clark from St. Vincent asked me to dance and I got shy and didn’t answer. So disappointed in everything about my dream self.
I miss Ireland. I want to go back and write stories and go see girl-fronted punk bands in cool bars and basements. I want hang out with a group of friends who work in a burrito place. I want to nurse my hangovers with fried fish and malt vinegar. I want to lived perfumed with sea air and peat. I want my face to become weathered and cragged as stone.
“The point of work should not be just to provide the material goods we need to survive. Since work typically takes the largest part of our time, it should also be an important part of what gives our life meaning. Our economic system works well for those who find meaning in economic competition and the material rewards it brings. To a lesser but still significant extent, our system provides meaningful work in service professions (like health and social work) for those fulfilled by helping people in great need. But for those with humanistic and artistic life interests, our economic system has almost nothing to offer.”—The Real Humanities Crisis - NYTimes.com (via mikerugnetta)
I had the most visceral, intense dream earlier. I dreamt that I was staying in a hotel that was converted from an old fortress that sat on top of a mountain near where I live. There was a kind of base camp nearby where I met some people I knew but then went into the hotel to explore.
It was a normal looking place I suppose but the people in there were so weird. Every few minutes these two men would come charging down the hall, dressed all in black with the same goatee and the same fixed rage on their face.
There was a part of the hotel that was preserved to keep the original look and atmosphere of the old fortress and a friend and I went in there snooping around in shit and it was really creepy but we left when we saw those two twins pacing towards us. They went right past us but we got outta dodge anyway. I think I was cursed in that room though, I started hallucinating and feeling terror everywhere. So my dad helped me to exorcize the demon and lift the curse and he brought me back to the room and I was so scared but then I just started charging in screaming and found a lady who I concluded was the demon and choked the shit out of her and killed her and I think the curse was lifted but not totally because it fought back and everything went black and white so I screamed and fought more and then I woke up.
“I’ve become skeptical of the unwritten rule that just because a boy and girl appear in the same feature, a romance must ensue. Rather, I want to portray a slightly different relationship, one where they two mutually inspire each other to live– if I’ m able to, then perhaps I’ll be closer to portraying a true expression of love.”—Hayao Miyazaki (via bbook)
It is a certain day in November, I am over your house for dinner. I’m thankful. You agree thankful is a good thing to be. I reaffirm my thanks. The table begins to shake. Your ears begin to ring. I relentlessly continue voicing my thankfulness for life and all things. A trickle of blood begins…