low bar

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“My face is going two different ways. My nose is going one way and the rest goes the other. I have to walk around with this face.”

“So what? I have a huge birthmark by my eye!”

“But that builds character! And you have Cara Delevingne eyebrows, a straight nose and … you have TEETH!”

Yes, that’s a high bar: having teeth.

Tired of/much too obvious

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This is so today. Headache music. I am not sure I have ever read something that so perfectly captured my mood in the exact moment I felt it.

“I won’t hate you, I won’t love you./There is the possibility of floating”. Sigh.

Tired Of
Patricia Hampl
Not the wrist of the sunset
which sinks every night
below the electrical wires—
that is pink, I’m not tired of pink.
But cover up the stars, the stars
are the absence of clouds.
Let the clouds come, clouds
are vague.
Say you didn’t betray me,
or am I being too clear again?
I’m a primary color
in your presence.
On the window sill a blue bottle
is filling with pink light.
I won’t hate you, I won’t love you.
There is the possibility of floating,
a pink loud is scudding by.
French-blue is right here,
it is serenity
even though the color is bright
and as you said, much too obvious.

(Edit, in response to this: “This sounds like something you’d like. It’s like bits in your soundtrack track listings. I might not be deep, but I know you well enough.”)

old souls – dead souls

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Yesterday I randomly came across this list of ’12 reasons why old souls have such a hard time finding love’. Normally I would think it was mumbo-jumbo – ‘old souls’? And who the hell is out looking for love?

Still it spoke to me in several ways. Truths:

  • Left unchecked, their hyper-intuitiveness can wreck relationships
  • They often have a greater purpose that must be attended to first – one that love would distract them from (They usually have to accomplish quite a bit on their own before they find love – this is because old souls love deeply, and completely. To be given love too soon would keep them from the other important things they are here to do)
  • They’re natural healers, and often attract people who need help, not love (at some point in time, it’s crucial for them to realize that they have to choose a partner, not a student, or a charity case)

I have written in recent months about how I have seen this final point repeat so many times that it is impossible to count by now. I went back to old journals and snippets I’d written down somewhere – the pattern has repeated throughout my entire life, a history I had not even guessed the depths of until I went far enough back into old journals. I remarked on this tendency so many times and more than once resolved to take another path.

But it’s so hard not to get ensnared: by the time you realize that someone needs help more than love, it’s already too late.

desire stuck in plaster

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Soundtrack du jour – a blast from the past – The Dø, “Stay (Just a Little Bit More)”. Years ago in the throes of several most ill-advised entanglements I came across this song, and it seemed so perfect. I ran across it again while looking at old journal entries on the mostly defunct LiveJournal platform. It’s still just as perfect as it was back in 2010.

“He was a bore, a true chore and I still wonder why I ever
Wanted to see him more
I know it’s useless to complain all these years after, well
Thanks for asking now I’m fine
I should have muffled my obsession but I was all too pure
And so blindly sure
That he’d always have the satisfying hug I needed
Stay just a little bit more
Don’t let my heart turn sore
Stay just a little bit more
Don’t let my heart turn sore
He was kind, polite and divine in public
Tender as a sleepy child
But when we got slightly more intimate
It wasn’t that bright
Yes he was kind, polite, sound and sublime
In theory
But in practice believe me
There was a nasty fire burning
Stay just a little bit more
Don’t let my heart turn sore
Stay just a little bit more
Don’t let my heart turn sore
‘And when my curves came into play
Oh what a hopeless tumbling down when
His desire was stuck in plaster
I was young but I believed in no tales’
So in the desert of the bed I looked hard for an oasis
But all I could find was a dead camel in pieces
And I got so scared I tried to lure him back to bed
And I whispered stay just a little more
But now I’m grateful to the camel
Cos all the lazy boy could do was run
Then I knew for sure
That he would never be the satisfying shag I needed”