boston

moving to boston. until then, sleeping on the floor with my elderly dog. he wakes up and cries until i scratch his ears and he falls back asleep.
running, returning. editing ba. drawing hands and learning 'the times they are a-changin' on guitar.
really interested in christianity lately.
the ship of theseus paradox and everything is connected.
i lied i haven't actually been drawing hands but it's something i'm going to start doing very soon.

'sooner
later
everyone will know'

-akron/family

^this song starts in 5/4, then goes to 2/4 and ends in 3/4. it's basically the greatest thing i've ever heard.

no pictures

it's been a while but i think i have something worth saying here. i'm not a fan of chicago, and it doesn't help that it's negative degrees outside. started working hard on my BA, spending a lot of time with my ancient dog and working at the bookstore where my fellow UChicago students buy their textbooks for the quarter. leaving for providence in 10 days, where i get to spend a glorious two weeks with my boyfriend and hopefully take a short trip to new york. until then, i'm overwhelmed by the feeling that i'm left without the means to carry out these miraculous expectations i have of myself; FEAR NO ART.

William Butler Yates

The Second Coming

TURNING and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?