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I'm feeling:
Music
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Architecture in Helsinki
Casey Shae
Crash Test Dummies
Dead 60's
The Distillers
Dresden Dolls
For The Birds
Gin Blossoms
Green Day
The Hives
Hot Hot Heat
Keane
Lucy Chapin
Kaiser Chiefs
Modest Mouse
The Mountain Goats
New Radicals
The Postal Service
Rancid
The Shins
Smashing Pumpkins
Streetlight Manifesto
Tally Hall
Woodward
The Zutons
Movies
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Zoolander
Bubble Boy
Spiderman 2
Envy
Moulin Rouge
Princess Diaries
What About Bob
The Aristocats
Team America
School of Rock
Grease
Finding Nemo
Napolean Dynamite
Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Ring
Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers
Lord of the Rings: Return of the King
Princess Bride
Fern Gully
Twister
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory
Wizard of Oz
Blues Brothers
V for Vendetta
Chicago
Running Scared
Snatch
Finding Nemo
Best in Show
School of Rock
Donnie Darko
Breakfast Club
Napoleon Dynamite
Sin City
Bruce Almighty
Labrynth
Big Fish
Young Frankenstein
Books
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..
Heroes
Spiderman
My dog
Bob
..
People who are lonely, people left alone, sit talking nonsense to the air, imagining... beautiful systems dying, old fixed orders spiraling apart... When you look at the ozone layer, from outside, from a spaceship, it looks like a pale blue halo, a gentle, shimmering aureole encircling the atmosphere, encircling the earth. Thirty miles above our heads, a thin layer of three-atom oxygen molecules, product of photosynthesis, which explains the fussy vegetable preference for visible light, its rejection of darker rays and emanations. Danger from without. It's a kind of gift from God, the crowning touch to the creation of the world: guardian angels, hands linked, make a spherical net, a blue-green nesting orb, a shell of safety for life itself. But everywhere, things are collapsing, lies surfacing, systems of defense giving way...This is why, Joe, this is why I shouldn't be left alone...
Night flight to San Francisco. Chase the moon across America.
God! It's been years since I was on a plane!
When we hit 35,000 feet, we'll have hit the tropopause. The great belt of calm air. As close as I'll ever get to the ozone.
I dreamed we were there. The plane leapt the tropopause, the safe air, and attained the outer rim, the ozone, which was ragged and torn, patches of it threadbare as old cheesecloth, and that was frightening...
But I saw something only I could see, because of my astonishing ability to see such things:
Souls were rising, from the earth far below, souls of the dead, of people who had perished, from famine, from war, from the plague, and they floated up, like skydivers in reverse, limbs all akimbo, wheeling and spinning. And the souls of these departed joined hands, clasped ankles, and formed a web, a great net of souls, and the souls were three-atom oxygen molecules, of the stuff of ozone, and the outer rim absorbed them, and was repaired.
Nothing's lost forever. In this world, there is a kind of painful progress. Longing for what we've left behind, and dreaming ahead.
At least I think that's so.