I found this while inanely searching google. I found it sort of beautiful and endearing at the same time. I don’t even understand half of it, but I needed to share it. I have preserved all spelling mistakes to retain the, what I believe to be, English-as-a-second-language authenticity.
Salinger is dead and this makes me feel alone though i have never met him, had no words spoken to, and have no hopes to have any…
i remember i had a tender skin when i was a teenager; my skin was so thin that all my receptors were open to the slightest changes in the air and feelings to littlest touches. Wind would hurt me fallin leaves would scar and would look into any new discovered positining of human matters with deep astonishment. then i have grown older and had an elephant skin that would not let anyhing to be felt. Salinger was a magicican who would touch the teenager in me and really cought me in my heart.
i have just noticed that we can have blog here. Does it have to be about scents?
if so; Salinger is lady venegance of juliette has a gun to me. Both touches my heart with strumming fingers to let out a deep gloominess…
we-are-revolting said: I'm so glad this blog exists. Absolutely brilliant!
I just want to thank you for being such a goddamn prince.
N.B. I’ve been somewhat slack recently, I’ll try to post more. Thanks to the 300-odd of you fellows that stick around.
As one limping man to another, old Zooey, let’s be courteous and kind to each other.
Were most of your stars out?
The typewriter squeals as I turn the knob.
Were you busy writing your heart out?
I can’t take these words in my head and