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holy scone!
May. 4th, 2007 04:43 pmWood-soled wedges are officially the most amazing things ever! They were my impromptu rhythm section all day long, and then I could do guitar riffs with my fingers and still sing! I probably annoyed the hell out of people, with my manic punk-rock tapdancing, but what the hell, I had a blast.
So I had a whole long thing to say about bandfiction, about how it's basically like all other fanfic and writing and poetry and scratches in the sand, just another philosopher's stone to bring us immortality. About how this week's top 40 band is next week's breakup, scandal, suicide, stolen girlfriend/drugs/hearts, the same way one episode is enough to turn canon on its head and Joss everyone. And the only way to remember things as they are is to fix them as they are, in writing.
I can tell I've been thinking too much in math-language lately because the only way I can express that is as a tangent, something a part of reality and yet wholly seperate. It's absurd to assume that a tangent expresses the entirity of the graph, but for that single moment, it is the absolute truth. We write fiction to set tangents to reality at pleasant points, lines to continue happily into infinity and comfort us with their existance when the real world takes a nosedive. Bands being some of the most transient and changeable things in existance, it only makes sense that the desire to record their happiness should be almost frantic.
OH MY GOD, guys, I brought home an orange scone from Au Bon Pain. It has orange frosting and smells like God's gift to the senses and I keep sticking my face in the bag to inhale and then make orgasmic noises. I'm saving it for tomorrow, because I have an AP Calc study session from eight to twelve and I'll need something to cheer me up in the morning, but God is it testing my willpower.
So I had a whole long thing to say about bandfiction, about how it's basically like all other fanfic and writing and poetry and scratches in the sand, just another philosopher's stone to bring us immortality. About how this week's top 40 band is next week's breakup, scandal, suicide, stolen girlfriend/drugs/hearts, the same way one episode is enough to turn canon on its head and Joss everyone. And the only way to remember things as they are is to fix them as they are, in writing.
I can tell I've been thinking too much in math-language lately because the only way I can express that is as a tangent, something a part of reality and yet wholly seperate. It's absurd to assume that a tangent expresses the entirity of the graph, but for that single moment, it is the absolute truth. We write fiction to set tangents to reality at pleasant points, lines to continue happily into infinity and comfort us with their existance when the real world takes a nosedive. Bands being some of the most transient and changeable things in existance, it only makes sense that the desire to record their happiness should be almost frantic.
OH MY GOD, guys, I brought home an orange scone from Au Bon Pain. It has orange frosting and smells like God's gift to the senses and I keep sticking my face in the bag to inhale and then make orgasmic noises. I'm saving it for tomorrow, because I have an AP Calc study session from eight to twelve and I'll need something to cheer me up in the morning, but God is it testing my willpower.
