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Thursday, August 16, 2012


I have "The Worst Pies in London" stuck in my head. XD Must be a Sweeney Todd week.

I noticed that all my favorite romantic novels contain the least amount of sex possibe. Just got out a Stephenie Plum novel and loved it. I get off on feelings, not sex. Then again, that's what lust is--anticipation.

Oh. And the following video made me realize I am not nearly cool enough to be a slam poet.

It also made me realize anxiety is not at all the worst thing that could happen to a person, but let's be humans and focus on the negative: I am a pedestrian amateur--or maybe amateur pedestrian. (Is there such a thing as a professional pedestrian?)
Ah well.

Was hoping New York would give me the urge to write, but it all it did was give me the urge to spend money and be a total tourist. :/ Well, I mean, it did inspire some creativity at first simply because I'd never seen Manhattan in person before and it was beautiful, but after a while it just made me feel small and insignificant and inexonorably(sp?) ordinary.

I really wonder how anyone can live like that 24/7. Maybe you just get used to it. Maybe it's a matter of perspective. Maybe New Yorkers look at the giant sky-scrapers and old, Gothic stone churches looming a million feet overhead with the neon billboards and penthouses and God, and think: "People built that. If people can work together and make something so beautiful, maybe we're not fucked after all."

In any case, I definitely see why New Yorkers are notorious for going to therapy like Medievel(sp?) England went to church. Being in the city is like being a child. You're afraid and insecure and lonely and in awe all at the same time. It's a lot of feel. A lot to process.

Am I ranting? I feel like I'm ranting. Yeah, I'm ranting.

Well, my butts asleep, so I'm going to go for a walk. Talk to you all later.
ily
~Belinda

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