“I really believe in history, and that’s something people don’t believe in anymore. I know that what we do and think is a historical creation. I have very few beliefs, but this is certainly a real belief: that most everything we think of as natural is historical and has roots — specifically in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, the so-called Romantic revolutionary period — and we’re essentially still dealing with expectations and feelings that were formulated at that time, like ideas about happiness, individuality, radical social change, and pleasure. We were given a vocabulary that came into existence at a particular historical moment. So when I go to a Patti Smith concert at CBGB, I enjoy, participate, appreciate, and am tuned in better because I’ve read Nietzsche.”
— Susan Sontag
12:41 pm • 25 November 2013
1st: Holy shit, I was such an asshole in all of the ways. All of the firsts. Studied way too much for the dumbest classes and drank too much questionably-colored liquid. Summed up by the word WHY, the song “Like a G6,” and the fact that I willingly went to a party themed “GI Joes and Army Hoes.” The happier times were running through the sprinklers in Polk Place and listening to the Avett Brothers. All of the extremes of the Terrible UNC Student.
2nd: Still an asshole, but had no excuse because by the second semester I should’ve known better. Really grumpy post-Paris haze of bougie nostalgia and wannabee bohemianism. Many cookies.
3rd: I was actually busy. I got mono, took econ and philosophy and went to a music festival. Wonderfully life-changing history class. Fighting post-Kenya blues. People I lived with were annoying and dramatic. I listened to M83 every night on my horribly long walks home. Remind me why I lived in a high-rise dorm again?
4th: Finally had a major and a direction but was still making dumb choices and felt like such a conflicted mess of maturity and arrested development. Another fantastic history class. Why was I still going to frat parties? Punctuated by heartbreaking basketball.
5th: The perfect cinematic life in London. So nicely packaged now, but I know there were downs certainly, but how?
6th: Lived in a tumbledown house with squirrels in the walls and Yankee prep school genius princesses for roommates. Lots of angst due to endings, and family being silly. Spent a week in the paradise of paradises, wrote a lot about Judaism, lost direction in some ways but gained it in others.
7th: Chalkboard walls and checkered floors and old friends. Fun plans usually, babysitting some, not stressed about school. The most content and stable so far.
8th: As I anticipate it, I will probably cry every time someone I know gets a job and when the weather is that perfect 75 degrees that sends the light sparkling and everyone congregates and the dome of Wilson is perfect against the sky.
12:19 am • 8 October 2013 • 2 notes
A listing of dreams
- I am white water rafting in Mexico with three Hispanic girls from my ninth-grade gym class to whom I have never spoken
- I am trapped in a terrifying tropical cult where they force us to chant “This is a banana-ist society”
- I must battle a monster that lives in the basement of my elementary school in order to save all my classmates and family
- I have to watch and analyze the Disney film Snow White for class and I’m doing so by making flashcards, poolside
- I am forced to make out with Voldemort when he is in post-Horcrux fetus form
Not welcoming any interpretations on these, guys.
11:51 am • 1 October 2013 • 1 note
First of all, I want to be slick on a cool bike like those guys in the album art instead of sweaty on my shitty mountain bike that is totally not a cool road bike.
Second of all, this song cements my firm belief that the progression of my life would have been a lot easier if I had had a nice high school boyfriend. I might have even had more fodder for writing catchy indie pop.
9:38 pm • 18 September 2013 • 2 notes
“…There are no strangers. There are only versions of ourselves, many of which we have not embraced, most of which we wish to protect ourselves from. For the stranger is not foreign, she is random, not alien, but remembered; and it is the randomness of the encounter with our already known–although unacknowledged–selves that summons a ripple of alarm. That makes us reject the figure and the emotions it provokes–especially when these emotions are profound. It is also what makes us want to own, govern, administrate the Other. To romance her, if we can, back to our own mirrors. In either instance (of alarm of false reverence), we deny her personhood, the specific individuality we insist upon ourselves.”
— Toni Morrison
9:00 pm • 17 September 2013 • 8 notes
I am always full of regret for the shows I missed out on during my semester in London.
10:37 pm • 9 September 2013 • 5 notes
“Memory is not a passive depository of facts, but an active creation of meanings.”
— Alessandro Portelli
8:31 pm • 8 September 2013 • 1 note