Let us try to put the ugliness of disappointment behind us (I’m looking at you, Terminator Salvation) and find solace and meaning and purpose and divinity and overwhelming inspiration in the following. Because, seriously, Terminator Salvation? What were you DOING? I expected so much more from Christian Bale – didn’t he have like script approval or something? I mean you can’t necessarily take something that never really made sense before and suddenly have it make MORE sense but…GAH. REALLY?! And you can’t just blame it entirely on time travel because we’ve all agreed to set aside all of the ridiculously cyclical and therefore pointless factors – it’s not our first time at the rodeo, ok. But…REALLY?!? “His heart just can’t take it.” REALLY?! Really. Really?
*brush it off* Tis the season. So on to things that make me happy. Unlike Terminator Salvation.
Okay, so I’m sure you remember that time we talked about journals. (That would be a link to that time because, who are we kidding, you don’t remember.) The Cavallini & Co. have secured their place in the pantheon of journaling.
So, I have the top two and am in need of the third one – although I will ne’er buy the black one. I’m sorry. But from that first day in the bookstore who dare not be named – I just wanted to live inside of it. It’s biblical. Le delight. Still, there were a few things I could NOT get over and also of which I could not seem to find a picture. Until…tonight.
OH. The majestic…choking on my own delight…merciful… *crosses self* It’s like starlight and the sound of water and baby scent and James Horner and snuggling and smoked meat all wrapped up in one magnificent piece of magnificence. I’m trying not to pass out right now. This. Is. And JJ Abrams talk at TED completely describes my reverence: what could I create that is worthy of you. Indeed! I will force myself to carry on.
And, getting back to journaling, I have always wanted a huge, ancient looking tome that I could drop down onto the table and from which a thunderous sound and rolls of dust and beautiousness would escape. This book – the one to follow – is the right size but is too nondescript.
Indubitably. Another precious treasure that I would – undoubtedly – never or at least at long last write in. (Lovely sentence, wasn’t she.) I just wouldn’t want to ruin it with something, some prose or thought unworthy of her majesty. (Did you know Jermaine’s kid is named Jermajesty? That’s the real crime.)
Also, I’m somewhat feverish right now so that should probably explain my thought process or lack thereof.
And finally. The outfit that felt like I’d gotten punched in the chest by that muscular bulldog from the cartoons.