When I was growing up my local grocery store had a model train that ran back and forth on top of the freezers in the frozen aisle. My dentist had a train that ran around the ceiling, and so did our town's ice cream shop. I think little ceiling trains are a lost art
It pisses me off when Europeans say things like: Eh, the brekkafast? Pfffft. It is noting. One cappuccino. Maybe square of dark-a chocolate. Maybe one biscotti I share-a with mi Nona, and even she say, “Giuseppe, you eat-a like hog in-a the shit. The minute you see-a da biscotti, your face become stupid. Not hungry. Stupid like farm animal hearing the bucket. No more biscotti for you, Giuseppe. It is time to make-a da ravioli for da village. One ravioli for entire village.” We are not like-a you Americans, with the pancake, the syrup, the Costco, the cheese from-a the can—it go spssssht, like this: SPSSSHT—onto what? Onto another cheese? You eat-a the brekkafast from the bucket, in the car, on the way to second brekkafast. This is Tuesday for you. The bread is cake. The cake is brekkafast. The brekkafast is soup. The soup is cereal. The cereal is blue. Why. What is this Costco you love? A city? A man? I do not know. You are always going there. You go to the Costco, you come-a back, you are crying, you don’t know why, you have purchased 40 pounds of shrimp. For what. For who.
> You’re born alone and you die alone
You’re born into the arms of people who love you with the intensity of a thousand suns and you die enmeshed in a lifetime’s worth of intimacy and connection of your own design
i want to read 10 books a day and consume all poetry and learn new languages and study different majors and pick up pottery and learn how to play instruments and own a bookstore and run a cafe and
Oh you want to change plans? Do something completely different than the logistics I’ve envisioned & as such cemented in my head? Sure that’s fine. I can be normal about that. Please excuse me for 10 minutes. If you hear screaming it is unrelated
sunday 230pm: wow i really have the whole day ahead of me. anything is possible
sunday 430pm: the day has slipped thru my fingers, any hope to be productive has faded to dust. i must retire to my quarters