Thus spake banter girl.
On growth and reading:
As I lay reading Saul Bellow's 'The victim' in the cradling train's upper berth, my legs stretched far wide, out of the little cushion plank and my hands spilled out from the other edges. I realized I had long overgrown the most pertinent measure of Indian common size. At this exact moment of discomforting over growth I also realized the truth of vegetarian living: Grass eaters eat mushrooms only out of sheer miserable abstinence and replacement for lamb feet and cow tails and goat balls. I could be wrong but mushrooms, really? Gross little brown buttons.
On loving and leaving:
When we keep ending love notes in 'love', we realize the effort it takes to keep the almost natural yet terrifying 'I' in the beginning and 'You' in the end from spilling in. You have to restrain, keep it real. Keep it sober.
And, that I'd keep loving many men but just two before one of them dies and they make an exemplary loner of me.
Conclusions make good paragraphs:
Isn't life in all twenty six dimensions in all the parallel universes, including the one inside, only defined apt by one, paradox?
