2006-09-17
rainbowfish.
I want to tell you how I felt to kiss you, but it turns out kissing is like sickness in that it exceeds my vocabulary. You'd think that somewhere among all the words I've collected over the course of my life, from any of the many possible forms of lexicon osmosis- I would have some decent words to describe the kissing. But the only approximation that seems halfway good is that I felt I had miniscule rainbowfish (they're the jumpy, little iridescent fillers in aquariums) darting through my nerves.
-From To Feel Stuff by Andrea Seigel
I've been trying to find a place within myself that I know I can recognize, something so true and distinguishable that I can spell it out with these words and know it to be the real me that has always existed and always will, so long as I am here.
That place is nestled somewhere within the mind-blowing implications of Darwin's Natural Selection, that weird rotating toaster in the dining hall, and wonderfully listening to my roommate tell me about her pompous grandpa as we watch the lightning from the darkness of our windows. I know I am being random and flighty. But it's somewhere there.
And I don't "want life in every word to the extent that it's absurd" (as the song goes), but I wouldn't mind some rainbowfish.
leesah-likes at 1:34 p.m.