Tenderly you turn out the light in your room.

Summer is: eating cherry pie filling out of the can with a gold spoon.

But one swallow doesn't make a summer. My sentiments, exactly. 

I would first, and foremost, like to offer a most cordial and loving, "Happy Birthday," to my grandmother, and sister lioness, who is 100 today, or would be if she were still alive. Quite an upstanding woman born in the first decade of 1900. 

It seems to me that I need a good dock to waste some time on. 

What else are you supposed to do with the dying of summer?

It's August, and it's a Gatsby kind of summer, so it's really no surprise that the name Daisy has been on my lips all the summer-livelong-days. What with her mint juleps, gorgeously flighty whims, breathy murmurs, and sadly-lolling, misty personality, she always seemed as if she would produce so much more for the domain in which she lived. Alas, she proved herself to be all smoke and magic mirrors, and I always end up wanting her to be so much more indecipherable than she really is, i. e. a catalyst. 

But Nick is really the character that sets me off. Am I really to believe his rendition of an American tragedy because he portions himself to be of the ilk to which all people end up telling all of their outlandish secrets?--because he is so accepting, so unprejudiced, so very fair that people just fall into his lap to regale him with stories and opinions that would never be accepted by anyone else? Pish posh! Nick's self-aborption shows his obvious mediocrity, yet all the while trying to label himself a sage-like wallflower. Gatsby is, for sure, his most intense man crush thereby painting the book's namesake with romantically tragic, rose-colored glasses.

All that aside, he proves to show what unquenchable yearning can do to a person; I suppose it's also what happens when thirsting for something on the other side of the veil of illusion. Ambition and/or/versus pining and whatnot. 

But speaking of speakeasies. 


The Great Gatsby is littered with time and time references, and time has, indeed, been on my mind too heavily as of late. I went sifting through the last 13 years of my life cleaning out old pictures, emails, notes, and letters. Here are some spoils for internet eyes:

Exhibit A: the last note from my very own "first love" who cheated on me

Exhibit B: high school hobbies

So, here you are, not thither and yon.

As absolute as a graviton.