20 parts poemas de amor, 2 parts cotton sweaters from the gap. pour over tiny asian girl and shake.

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

when one door closes another one opens

my life right now is like one of those wall-sized windows with multiple wooden shutters hanging off it just waving back and forth, waving back and forth, with an urgency similar to speed at which a hummingbird flaps its wings, each shutter unconcerned with the pace of the other. just when you think one shutter has closed it swings open again as the eye of the one you were propping open yawns shut, leaving you to wonder when one will stop, lead you through, and the world can be quiet.

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I unofficially take photographs and charm people for a living. Officially, I received a B.F.A. from Cornell University, and am now on the West Coast making websites, planting gardens, and damning the man. Be my friend at carol[dot]why[dot]zou[at]gmail[dot]com.

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