"And then I got to a point where I just started realizing that you just embrace the fact that it’s uncomfortable and be uncomfortable and just let that be the thing you do. So I never worry too much - - the awkward silences or failed banter that’s not funny, and I’ve been compared to Rainman on stage which was - - I understand it because… I look like I’m a little bit, just really awkward. But I think it’s like, after a while it’s like, that’s fine, you know? That’s an okay thing to be. You don’t have to be cool or charming or funny."
"Your life is not an episode of Skins. Things will never look quite as good as they do in a faded, sun-drenched Polaroid; your days are not an editorial from Lula. Your life is not a Sofia Coppola movie, or a Chuck Palahniuk novel, or a Charles Bukowski poem. Grace Coddington isn’t your creative director. Bon Iver and Joy Division don’t play softly in the background at appropriate moments. Your hysterical teenage diary isn’t a work of art. Your room probably isn’t Selby material. Your life isn’t a Tumblr screencap. Every word that comes out of your mouth will not be beautiful and poignant, infinitely quotable. Your pain will not be pretty. Crying till you vomit is always shit. You cannot romanticize hurt. Or sadness. Or loneliness. You will have homework, and hangovers and bad hair days. The train being late won’t lead to any fateful encounters, it will make you late. Sometimes your work will suck. Sometimes you will suck. Far too often, everything will suck - and not in a Wes Anderson kind of way. And there is no divine consolation - only the knowledge that we will hopefully experience the full spectrum - and that sometimes, just sometimes, life will feel like a Coppola film."
This video pretty much says everything we need to remember about life, and living.
"Remember how you would take a problem by the neck and whine about it, only to be hushed when a solution drops on your lap like Manna; and then you chuckle and apologize for the stupidity of comparing God’s mind to yours."
"(When Vonnegut tells his wife he’s going out to buy an envelope) Oh, she says, well, you’re not a poor man. You know, why don’t you go online and buy a hundred envelopes and put them in the closet? And so I pretend not to hear her. And go out to get an envelope because I’m going to have a hell of a good time in the process of buying one envelope. I meet a lot of people. And, see some great looking babes. And a fire engine goes by. And I give them the thumbs up. And, and ask a woman what kind of dog that is. And, and I don’t know. The moral of the story is, is we’re here on Earth to fart around. And, of course, the computers will do us out of that. And, what the computer people don’t realize, or they don’t care, is we’re dancing animals. You know, we love to move around. And, we’re not supposed to dance at all anymore."
Twenty-something from Manila. Audiophile. Skinny love. Wolf in sheep's clothing. (This tumblogorrhea may contain an excess of posts about music, poetry, books, animals, pretty words, people, alcohol, food, art, places, existentialism, and film/stills.)
