Instead of asking myself “Is it true? Is it necessary? Is it kind?” before speaking or doing something controversial, I like to think “Would Carrie Fisher be proud of me? Would Oscar Wilde be proud of me? Would Mr. Rogers be proud of me?”
He is like a fantasy. The inevitability of his escape is most likely his most attractive feature. He submits to the silences without a struggle; I go under shrugging and sighing, finally overcome by the sheer weight of the pause-turned-lull-turned-way-of-life. Silence speaks louder than words—it screams, ‘BORING!’ He’s boring and tries to make it look more like a decision than an accident.
I cannot believe that Carrie Fisher, despite being 19 years old and slammed in the vortex of an affair with an in-his-prime Harrison Ford, still had the sharpness for this BRUTAL HARRISON FORD BURN in her TEENAGE DIARY (via sashayed)
Steel Phoenix Studios 