mmmarilyn

12.31pm
Sunday
11 December 2005

the hero takes his place among the extras
prays to god they don't see he's insane
'cause days he plays his part out to perfection
and nights he can't make sense of his own name

--bo bedingfield, the hero

I loved Narnia from a place inside me that is still 8 years old, that still is in shock and awe that she can be made to CRY by the telling of a simple STORY, that before being pulled into the tale of another beautiful and terrifying world —up until my little hands gripped those pages and saw terribly sad and terribly awe-inspiring things happen, I had, before, only cried at things that had actually happened, things that were going on to ME in the real world.

Ha. The "real" world. So where does it end, and Narnia begin?

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I also saw Jesus is Magic this past weekend, and I love Sarah Silverman more than any other girl EVER EVER EVER, and I am going to find her and make her fall in love with me too, so I can have eight billion of her babies.

• × • × • × •

If you like π as much as I do, you better love the shit out of this.

• × • × • × •

Also must see movies coming up: the gay cowboys this weekend, and Jane motherfucking Austen.

• × • × • × •

I have so so much more to say, owing to the fact that my nerves and emotions are raw and frayed to the breaking point—I did more drugs this weekend than I have since I was living with nicholas tfm black.

I could talk for hours about:

what is love?

is the storybook romance ideal of love possible?

should we want it?

do we wish it were possible?

do we feel empty inside when we think that it's not?

is it because we think other people can achieve it and we can't?

or can no one achieve it?

are your emotions when you're fucked up more real than the ones when you're sober?

or are they more manufactured?

why do they FEEL MORE FUCKING REAL, then?

maybe because they block out everything (everything everything) but your SELF?

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