perfection moonshine It was a perfect night, with perfect beginnings and perfect endings. 011015 ... Raina the impossible dream 020102 ... Toxic_Kisses It bothers me deeply that I'm not the reflection of this word. 020102 ... pilgrim It's all so perfectly chaotic. The optomist belives that this is the best of all possible worlds. The pessimist fears this is true If I had created the universe, I'm afaid that everything would be a lot more cartoonish than it is. But then again look at a Platypus, maybe I did create this after all. 020318 ... celestial her soul 021103 ... the eye an illusion i do not harbor for fear of the unjust weight it would place on the one i love whatever flaws she may possess and how they have shaped who she is are infinitely important between fate_and_chaos 021103 ... Isaou Yes, you have always been top of the class. Top of every class in fact. Effortlessly, upset by any imperfection others find within you. Yes, you have always been arrogant underneath, only letting it show in brief moments of weakness. Why do you deserve it? It's no less than what everyone expects. But god, I crave to see the look on your face when someone gets chosen above you. When you realise that perfect is not always enough. Because it needs to get to you. It needs to get to you, Like it gets to the rest of us. 091112 ... clubfoot he hurt his neck in gym today and when he got up from the couch on his mother's direction, to show me the bulge on the back of his neck, he looked like every woman on my late mother's side of the family who suffered from and eventually (with the exception of one still living)died as the result of facioscapulohumeral muscular dystrophy. his one hip jutted awkwardly creating a big crease in his right side. his right shoulder sagged in a way that made me sad, and his own sad face, eyes red from crying and swollen cheeks and wet lips, made him look like my very own late grandmother, one of the seven sisters who suffered. and i was angry at him. because he looked like a kelly girl. and i could not explain my anger and it quickly became sadness and worry. the x-rays showed nothing. but i can't stop thinking of him in the disease-wracked flesh of the kelly girls. when will he become an army girl with a tambourine and a bun pinned to her hair? a rosicrucian in love with the rangers? a detective's wife with a ermine collar? a michigander? a prankster? a drunk? i can only hope for the franscican for my son, though; that his neck will stop hurting in a day or two, and he will seek to understand rather than to be understood. He is ten and won't want to be a kelly girl. 130306 ... tender_square when i was growing up, i used to think about what it would be like to die, but not in the way of killing myself, more like dying from an accident, say my asthma or suffering from anaphylaxis like macaulay culkin’s character in “my girl,” something tragic. i had this fantasy of seeing all of my red-eyed classmates with tear-stained cheeks at my funeral, and them all suddenly speaking so highly of me, feeling distraught and guilty about the ways they had wronged me or overlooked me. as a kid, i thought that secrets fostered closeness between friends and i’d tell any catholic classmate who’d listen at recess that i talked to god. they ran from me. i sat alone studying the curvature of clouds, sliding white clover heads off stems, talking to trees. in the vision of my open casket, i would see myself angelic, my blonde hair cascading gently over my shoulders, my arms crossed over my chest, and a satisfaction would come over me for moving to this untouchable place, this ideal. but my childhood brain didn’t understand that the ideal was a false bargain, and that the only way to attain it meant the utter annihilation of myself as a living, breathing, mixed-up girl. 211110 what's it to you? who go blather from