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my dog hamlet was lying on the ground crying and every so often trying to paw me with his claws (he pulled something in his shoulder), so i texted my dad:
me: call hamlet
dad: i don’t have his number
February 2010
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did you know
if you chant disenchanted enchantment enough, it doesn’t sound like words. i just did it so many times i don’t think i can make a coherent sentence.
instead of making booty calls on a saturday night i make cupcakes, which in the end just make booties bigger.
bodies dipped in charcoal
as filthy as this earth
smudges from trudging feet
lazily dragging across linoleum
that was hastily mopped to make it’s plastic glisten.
it’s not fooling anyone.
scrubbing bodies to cleanse their skin
still tainted with dirt and memories
that sifted into pores and etched creviced wrinkles
no lotion or potion can lift out personal deterioration
we’re all lined with our pasts.
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things my dog chewed:
- a stuffed panda bear
- the upstairs couch cushions
- a few downstairs couch cushions
- a toothbrush
- a spool of white thread
- a box that boxers came in
- a singing card
- paper plates
- the stuffed panda bear’s eye
- a pair of glasses
i knew i would pay for accidently punching her nose when i was warm up dancing (obviously in richard simmons style) while getting ready tonight. also for forgetting to kennel her.
just because i laughed when you hip-bumped me doesn’t mean i want your body. it means you hip-bumped me, and that’s funny.
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“This radical idea — the scientists were suggesting that depressive disorder came with a net mental benefit — has a long intellectual history. Aristotle was there first, stating in the fourth century B.C. “that all men who have attained excellence in philosophy, in poetry, in art and in politics, even Socrates and Plato, had a melancholic habitus; indeed some suffered even from melancholic disease.” This belief was revived during the Renaissance, leading Milton to exclaim, in his poem “Il Penseroso”: “Hail divinest Melancholy/Whose saintly visage is too bright/To hit the sense of human sight.” The Romantic poets took the veneration of sadness to its logical extreme and described suffering as a prerequisite for the literary life. As Keats wrote, “Do you not see how necessary a World of Pains and troubles is to school an intelligence and make it a soul?”
—Jonah Lehrer, Depression’s Upside (New York Times Magazine) (via psychotherapy)
