It’s bright but why is there glass in the ceiling? That doesn’t make any sense!

It was, in simpler words, my exact thoughts about a majority of the Chihuly exhibit: it’s incredibly colorful and impressively crafted, but in my opinion, gets rather old quickly. Or, as a small schoolboy said to his teacher:

It’s like the Star Wars planet of Felucia.

Exactly. My mom, on the other hand, who worships Chihuly like Evangelicals love Jesus, was immediately smitten with the series of brightly-glassed rooms. Her journey through the Chihuly special exhibit took more than twice as long as mine. In the time before she finished — and in the extra time when she went back for the second time — I managed to peruse every item in the gift shop, trade eyes with the cute brunette (you know who you are), watch a bit of the documentary, trade eyes with her again, look at old people, continue looking at old people, and write the following poem, dedicated to the Ladies of the Dale Chihuly Glass Exhibit:

We still take all sorts of pictures

non-flash, assured,

and whisper witticisms

with loose-fitting smock

shirts and LL Bean tag scratch

and speak to ourselves

there is such beauty in the world,

at least here if only today.

If only…

And we will read

imprints of walls and heart

to become experts in a science

of comprative linguistics:

like nothing seen before.

How phallic, but softly thought

that Dale made these all

for me.

If only…

Sparkling glass glaze and light

preferentially accepted

thrills our pupils pale eyes in anticline.

To tell our husbands they’ve missed out

as we live our lives lost love

amidst luminations and shape,

not at normal non-places of

residence while we are

at least here, if only

Ladies of the Dale Chihuly Glass Exhibit.

Call me Marlow.

You saw him out of the corner of your eye. Fashion label jeans, shirt just tight enough to suggest…
(“It’s not what’s revealed but what’s concealed,” said Ms. Conrads about art, and you would heartily agree if you knew art. Splatter-splotch guy?)
SENIOR ALERT!
It was love (omg!):
Maybe it was the sports player charm (qt)
Thrill of an older fellow (roflcopter)
Mysterious knowledge of anime and science (plz)
Gun rack (srsly?)
But you up-down him and want to effing shout “Right on!” up to the mother-effing trees!
Pulcinella ring through the breeze.
Experience like a sage, amateur Brad Pitt in training –
Casanova, baby.
Little nymphet running to your Humbert Humbert.
There are snakes in the motha-effing school!

Have to stay silent, keep it inside, untranslatable like morse:
. . . . – . . . – - . – . – . – . . – . – - . . – . . – - – . . . – . . . . . . . – - . – . – . -

“The junk merchant … does not improve and simplify his merchandise. He degrades and simplifies the client.”
Peer pressure, competition blow off course like Aeolian winds.
They’ll be back.
Corruption is the name of the game for the Mad Men –
Morals deep like shallow pools, won’t think twice.
Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.
Great expectations descended and break pay tribute money like Massacio handing Perugino’s key to the treasure.

Just like Iraq Taylor Swift PT Cruiser: sounded good at the time.
Love is not Seth/Summer L.B Jeffries/Lisa Fremont
You don’t know love…
so, like Heidegger, let it be.
Famous disavowal: “I know very well, but all the same…”
Careful Rumsfeld, always sounded good at the time.
“Stick to your own kind, one of your own kind.”

Next day plays a game of disappear like the Major.
Jumps out the window as you pop in.

Don’t leave 9th grade guys fighting over remnants like famished Irish farmers foraging for a tater.
Satisfactory reason exists to avoid Olympians.
You will see the best minds of your generation destroyed by madness.
Like McD’s, expand, monopolize relations.
“If this is the best of all possible worlds, what are the others?”
Open up hearts of darkness like Suger.
“The horror!”

All work and no play makes (insert nice fellow’s name here) a dull boy.
All work and no play makes (insert nice fellow’s name here) a dull boy.
All work and no play makes (insert nice fellow’s name here) a dull boy.

My suggestion for the 9th Grade Ladies starts
wait…
Fix hair, straighten shirt
wait…
Ok: GOL (giggle out loud) with your little girl-power teen posse gather tightest together Sancho Panza on left, Watson on right (in girl form), and then TBH just say L8R, LSR.
“I am on your side. But you have no way of knowing it, because our heart is blind.”

Depart as air, shake your splendid locks at the runaway sun.
How old are you now?
“I’m seventeen and I’m crazy. My uncle says the two always go together. When people ask your age, he said, always say seventeen and insane.”
You’re 15,14,13 — 17. And crazy.
After all, Cabot was an explorer and disappeared forever.
“I decline to accept the end of man.”
So sit back and enjoy the strawberries and the Queen’s gambit.
We all grow up too fast so let’s walk backwards.