a liberal arts education killed the dinosaurs.

For those of you who feel like your life takes place in a fixed amount of space, who keep running into people and places you wish to forget, or who feel the need to explode into a million fragmented bits of existence onto a white canvas waiting to be your new self,

I'm going to happily recommend you go to a certain New York City.

a head between two pillows

If music feeds love, keep playing
Stuff me beyond my limit, so that
my appetite gets sick and dies.
That part again! It had a dying cadence;
I heard it. It went into my ear like a
wind that blows on some violets,
talking and giving order. Enough, no more.
It's not as sweet as it was before.
Love, you are so quick and fresh,
that, even though you are so great,
you receive as the sea. Nothing enters there,
of what validity and superiority so ever,
but falls into abatement and low esteem.
Even in a minute, so full of fantasies is love
that it alone is simply imaginative.

Will you go hunt, me Lord?

What the hell are you talking about?

The heart.

Why, I will, the noblest I can find.
When I first saw Olivia
I thought she stole the air of pestilence.
Then I turned into a heart,
and my fierce and cruel desires
have since chased me.

I looked at this painting for a while, and I liked it, but I didn't know why. I saw it as men raining down from the sky.

Then I realized that there is no indication that they are going downwards. They could also be going straight up, or not moving at all.

And it saddened me that my natural reaction was to assume that they were falling.

if every night were like that, calling home wouldn't be so difficult.

After silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music.

- Aldous Huxley

The band was stomping through Ellington's 'Far East of the Blues,' and the director shot his cool, focused gaze on me, slightly nudging his head in my direction, the way one turns one's head slightly when first waking in the refreshing cold of dawn. My pulse quickening, I placed the mouthpiece between my lips, swallowing the bitter, metallic-wooden taste, and, as is wont to happen, my words became melody. I closed my eyes; I wasn't following the chart, and for all I know, I didn't even play the scale I was supposed to solo over (F blues). I didn't notice the drums, the two saxes beside me simply disappeared.

I disintegrated as well. Everything I wanted to say, nothing I didn't, some things I couldn't and wouldn't and shouldn't...in short, a soul...it became air, it became breath, diving into the horn, making sharp, non-sensical turns around elegant curves of brass...it all became one sound and eight sounds, unified and separate. Oscillating between high and low, climbing, diving. Joy; harmony. Despair; dissonance. Self-reflection; the spaces between; breath.

My eyes opened, and the band kept playing. Everyone resumed their position; the music continued, the beat of the drum matching the throbbing in my fingers, staccato and steady.