Need Gun:
Working on the house little by little. Enjoyed much peeling of shitty, ugly, ghetto wallpaper. They wallpapered over wallpaper someone wallpapered over wallpaper. It's a mess of inefficacy but peeling it was resplendent.
Finished Nip/Tuck through Season 6 and am very disappointed that I've no more to watch. Need it!
Now watching Pushing Daisies. It's lovely.
I need more quirky shows. I'm running out of stoned viewing material. Then again, watching silly clips and listening to Sneaker Pimps suffices as entertainment in said state.
That's my favorite part. That I enjoy banal shit and daydream about the mansion I'd build if I were obscenely wealthy. There's an entire wing for clothes in said mansion and a multistory library with a rolling ladder. Secret thought.
Secret thoughts are lovely. If you don't daydream (which may be uncommon in terms of ridiculous shit) you really should. I spend a lot of free time mentally designing fairy-tale tree-houses and organizing my imaginary collections of velociraptor figurines. I like to wallow in the little images that make pleasant things truly pleasant in an individual sense. It's really remarkable to think that as homogenous as we are, how we're all matter and energy, that we all encounter the same mundane things - that despite this, within us is a very specific fantasy world where it smells like childhood, has the color scheme of our favorite painting, nuances of our favorite films, ambient wafts of favorite snippets of music from an arcane archetypal place in memory. It's odd and beautiful and horrifying. Sometimes, upon waking from a favorite dream (recurring dream of wandering this invented city in my head.. in crimson stockings and teal boots... amidst Parisian shops and curio stores full of my favorite items.. through antique houses full of glittering cobwebs and dappled light) I wake up and mourn that that feeling of bliss and comfort doesn't exist outside of me. That contented feeling is ephemeral and to be sought after. It makes me sad sometimes as any death is a death of a world yet it also allows me to daydream about silly mustaches and giggle privately to myself for which I am grateful.
Sorry to wax odd up on ya but suck it.
Here's that weird photo montage:
Spinaches!
Boobeh!
Working on the house little by little. Enjoyed much peeling of shitty, ugly, ghetto wallpaper. They wallpapered over wallpaper someone wallpapered over wallpaper. It's a mess of inefficacy but peeling it was resplendent.
Finished Nip/Tuck through Season 6 and am very disappointed that I've no more to watch. Need it!
Now watching Pushing Daisies. It's lovely.
I need more quirky shows. I'm running out of stoned viewing material. Then again, watching silly clips and listening to Sneaker Pimps suffices as entertainment in said state.
That's my favorite part. That I enjoy banal shit and daydream about the mansion I'd build if I were obscenely wealthy. There's an entire wing for clothes in said mansion and a multistory library with a rolling ladder. Secret thought.
Secret thoughts are lovely. If you don't daydream (which may be uncommon in terms of ridiculous shit) you really should. I spend a lot of free time mentally designing fairy-tale tree-houses and organizing my imaginary collections of velociraptor figurines. I like to wallow in the little images that make pleasant things truly pleasant in an individual sense. It's really remarkable to think that as homogenous as we are, how we're all matter and energy, that we all encounter the same mundane things - that despite this, within us is a very specific fantasy world where it smells like childhood, has the color scheme of our favorite painting, nuances of our favorite films, ambient wafts of favorite snippets of music from an arcane archetypal place in memory. It's odd and beautiful and horrifying. Sometimes, upon waking from a favorite dream (recurring dream of wandering this invented city in my head.. in crimson stockings and teal boots... amidst Parisian shops and curio stores full of my favorite items.. through antique houses full of glittering cobwebs and dappled light) I wake up and mourn that that feeling of bliss and comfort doesn't exist outside of me. That contented feeling is ephemeral and to be sought after. It makes me sad sometimes as any death is a death of a world yet it also allows me to daydream about silly mustaches and giggle privately to myself for which I am grateful.
Sorry to wax odd up on ya but suck it.
Here's that weird photo montage:
Spinaches!
Boobeh!