2009-01-25
oxford commas
Yesterday I traveled to Oxford. Never in my life have I seen as many physically attractive boys as I did during my visit. I don�t mean to dote upon it, but it was so rare and exciting that it�s really notable. Literally every other boy walking along the street was inspiring to look at. Usually I don�t immediately consciously process the faces I encounter in terms of how ostensibly good-looking they are, but at Oxford, their handsomeness was so evident that I started keeping track, and the boys were amazingly, consistently attractive. What a wonderful city. And that�s all I really want to say about Oxford, for now.
Since we�ve arrived in London, I�ve seen six productions. I�m holding them all in my mind.
A sweet, nostalgic duet, where neither singer is sure they are remembering it properly.
A delusional man swaying along to the delicious trance of an orchestra which plays only in his mind (yet the orchestra is center stage for the audience to see and hear, and he is staggering through their �invisible� orchestra rows).
Chinese acrobats suspended in midair as they vertically slide down the small space between two large, triangular blocks.
The play-actor that portrays �moonlight� with a dog sock-puppet on his hand which howls at his face.
These shows are funny and sad, they are a ride, they make you feel like something bigger than your measly self, they remind you of the common emotionality within all of our unique experiences. They make you want to live a bigger life. I want to live a bigger life.
No one�s gonna drag you up to get into the light where you belong
Live big, but that doesn�t mean dream big.
It�s possible that you are true, but I won�t know it. More pragmatically important, though, is that you are not real. You�re a figment of my imagination-- I made you up in my mind.
And because you don�t exist, you won�t get a chance to prove me wrong.
The innocent contemplation �how would I describe this to Lisa?� followed by an earnestly mused answer� was never thought. Letters mentally drafted to me are left unsent; the pages are left unfurled because they were never penned.
You aren�t real, maybe you never were, just a truthful delusion, just a felt veracity that won�t ever be. In my urgent quest for Truth, I neglected another important temptress: Reality. I can�t afford to overlook her.
We�ve found a routine, we�ve found a daily drag, and it is good. Today I am going to go to the British Museum, and make friends with some new streets. I�m getting some ideas. I�m missing people. I�m enjoying myself.
leesah-likes at 2:07 p.m.