gf: babe come over
me (a lawnmower) : no i cant im cutting the grass and you live in the sky
gf: my parents are out
The idea of a sentient lawnmower willing itself to fly just so that it can somehow get laid is a pure, perfect thought and one of the greatest gifts of the internet
And as much as I’d like to believe there’s a truth beyond illusion, I’ve come to believe that there’s no truth beyond illusion. Because, between ‘reality’ on the one hand, and the point where the mind strikes reality, there’s a middle zone, a rainbow edge where beauty comes into being, where two different surfaces mingle and blur to provide what life does not: and this is the space where all art exists, and all magic.
And - I would argue as well - all love. Or, perhaps more accurately, this middle zone illustrates the fundamental discrepancy of love. […] And just as music is the space between notes, just as the stars are beautiful because of the space between them, just as the sun strikes raindrops at a certain angle and throws a prism of color across the sky - so the space where I exist, and want to keep existing, and to be quite frank I hope I die in, is exactly this middle distance: where despair struck pure otherness and created something sublime.
The Goldfinch by Donna Tart
I just finished my now favorite book of all time and sobbed on a blanket at the park down the street. Day off work, 11 a.m., sunglasses laying in pieces next to me (I’d laid on them), hair blowing around still wet from my morning shower, hoodie draped over my head like a weird hat, my baggy white T-shirt acting as a kleenex. Total mess. Sobbing. Not out of sadness but because I just loved it so much. If you’re looking for a new book let this be it.