nothing more

i mean, so i felt like posting this favorite, from www.storypeople.com:


Often, I write all day long with white ink on white paper, late into the night, until it is all I can do to feel the letters curving to earth from the tip of the pen & then, I fall asleep. Dreaming of running, or maybe driving in a car the color of water & I wake the next day remembering nothing & I gather the stack of paper & a pen of black on the desk in front of me & the words begin to dance over the page like long legged insects across a still lake & the words in white whisper behind & underneath the new day. If there is any secret to this life I live, this is it: the sound of what cannot be seen sings within everything that can. & there is nothing more to it than that.


thought of you, and where you've gone, and let the world spin madly on... i could listen to this song TWO MILLION TIMES in a row.

also, is it bad if i put my feet up on a library table? because i almost did just now and thought better of it.