I am a Humanities major. As such I have spent many a weary night in front of a computer monitor typing out typical run-on sentences such as:
"Clearly so and so's film seeks to explore the darker sides of life, not interesting itself for more than a few moments on the ephemeral of the every-day, but seeking the Self only found, or so thinks the artist, in communion with the transcendent qualities of nature and her affiliates."
Luckily I've never actually written a paper with such a thesis. But perhaps after Friday I will take a stab at writing some fake papers just to get it out of my system. Not actually saying anything can be a lot of fun. I need to take exercises in it more often.
For now, there is plenty to say for tonight's topic: The dual visions of the wilderness in America, and something about the battle going on between the logical and the Gothic in contemporary American film. Riveting, I know.
The best part of it is, it's my paper, and I can make it anything I want it to be. Just me and a keyboard, such is the technological age in which we live. So marvel in the ability you have to produce, and produce something. It doesn't matter if it makes no sense to anyone else. While you're at it, take the fake topic I just typed out above. Because ephemeral is an excellent word, I learned it from Emerson. THAT guy knew about communing with nature.
So does my little tree.
And this is my last. paper. ever.
Tree
I recently added a tree to my blog. I realize that it covers up the words. I like the tree, and one day soon it will be replaced with something that I like better that does not cover up the words.
For now...
The tree it is.
For now...
The tree it is.
Lightning Up
So far, these posts have all been quite heavy. I'm not apologizing, I am just switching gears to talk about something different.
Something simple, I guess.
and semi-coherent.
There are beautiful things.
Moments are things, and sometimes there are moments that are beautiful.
"Most moments are beautiful when looked at with the right lens"- Hollywood
If I were a photographer:
I would photograph a story: little words, and a lot of message. Something that people would rack their brain over for hours trying to decipher, coming up with something completely different, and probably better, than my interpretation. Then I would entitle it,
"That Was Kind of a Beautiful Moment".
It would probably be about a shortage of powdered sugar, being resourceful, and culinary failure.
Or a bowl of pasta, a red towel, and a new friend.
Or perhaps three girls in a car with the window rolled down- dry summer lightning.
Or the remembrance of lightning and thunder; something like snow in July within the first moments of waking up- that line between the truly remembered and the imagined.
Then I would subtitled it, "My Week in Abstract Black and White Photographs", set it aside for future generations, and hope that the feeling of anxiety--looking forward, looking back would somehow penetrate through the paper.
That and some abstract laughter.
There really was lightning last night
and I hear thunder over the roof of this building
right now.
Something simple, I guess.
and semi-coherent.
There are beautiful things.
Moments are things, and sometimes there are moments that are beautiful.
"Most moments are beautiful when looked at with the right lens"- Hollywood
If I were a photographer:
I would photograph a story: little words, and a lot of message. Something that people would rack their brain over for hours trying to decipher, coming up with something completely different, and probably better, than my interpretation. Then I would entitle it,
"That Was Kind of a Beautiful Moment".
It would probably be about a shortage of powdered sugar, being resourceful, and culinary failure.
Or a bowl of pasta, a red towel, and a new friend.
Or perhaps three girls in a car with the window rolled down- dry summer lightning.
Or the remembrance of lightning and thunder; something like snow in July within the first moments of waking up- that line between the truly remembered and the imagined.
Then I would subtitled it, "My Week in Abstract Black and White Photographs", set it aside for future generations, and hope that the feeling of anxiety--looking forward, looking back would somehow penetrate through the paper.
That and some abstract laughter.
There really was lightning last night
and I hear thunder over the roof of this building
right now.
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