We interrupt this program

#12: You can tell yourself that 365 somethings will happen.

You can swear against the interruptus that is; hold yourself accountable for future somethings, and nothings, and everythings. In fact, I encourage it. I’ve always had a thing for failure.

For once, I’m just glad my excuse is that I have been living.

Between us chickens, the actual pursuit of life is heady, man. Real heady.

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We need glitter bombs and shaking hips

#5: I swear on this, no matter how extensive my current musical elitism:

I saw ‘NSYNC in concert when I was 15, and when the lighting went crazy, when the girlish pubescence swelled into a frenzy, when JC Chasez (the specter of my wet dreams) threw a janky sweat-laden towel in my direction, I swear this on my tiny African mother: I peaked. My heart felt it. My body buzzed with approval.

For a few seconds, I had a lived a full life.

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And later, if a person is wrong about that pure feeling, especially after witnessing the scope of a messy, unpredictable human existence, I wouldn’t sweat too much. We should first instinct. We shouldn’t diminish the past in the presence of knowledge or foresight.

One should feel so sure about a moment at least once.

Un peu grande vérité

#2: I miss you, too.

You close your eyes when you laugh.

In those brief sweet moments, you lean and hunch your shoulders; your arms cross. Your body is so beautifully overwhelmed with life, that it becomes concave. As if its natural response is to contain the expulsion. But why?

A laugh from you is joyful disintegration.