Tuesday, January 31, 2012

Non-Believer

I regret to say that I let all my dreams, aspirations, and ambitions die. I let them all go until I had no ties to return me back to them. I erased them, and now I can't remember how it feels to grip onto something like that. I even struggle with the basic concept of liking something. Or appreciating something. My affinity for literature and music and film are dissipating, just like everything else I do and am. This is called sinking.

In some desperate attempt to find myself, I have managed to thoroughly lose myself in the caves of my own eyes. It's been 2 years since high school ended, the last milestone I can recall, and I haven't done a thing worth telling about. But then again, I've never done anything worth telling about. In the past 2 years, I worked so damn hard to be apathetic. To be calm and fucking cool. So calm and cool that I no longer respond to anything with any form of sincerity, genuineness, or authenticity. The things that come out of me are now just creatively-delivered bull shit that mean nothing to me or anyone else. I find it so damn hard to care about anything at all. I can feel the force of guilt begging me to just...care. I'm so deep down into this drone that my beliefs in life are dwindling to the pathetic and the lonely and being alright with it. How fucking sad is that? How fucking sad is it that I've made myself alright with being such a fucking scumbag?

Everyday I tell myself I'll be better. Everyday I tell myself I'll grab onto some dream again and bring myself back to life. But every night I fall asleep with the distress of failure and the pitiful realization that I simply don't want to do anything. Anything at all. This is called sinking. This is non-believing.

Non-Believer

I regret to say that I let all my dreams, aspirations, and ambitions die. I let them all go until I had no ties to return me back to them. I erased them, and now I can't remember how it feels to grip onto something like that. I even struggle with the basic concept of liking something. Or appreciating something. My affinity for literature and music and film are dissipating, just like everything else I do and am. This is called sinking.

In some desperate attempt to find myself, I have managed to thoroughly lose myself in the caves of my own eyes. It's been 2 years since high school ended, the last milestone I can recall, and I haven't done a thing worth telling about. But then again, I've never done anything worth telling about. In the past 2 years, I worked so damn hard to be apathetic. To be calm and fucking cool. So calm and cool that I no longer respond to anything with any form of sincerity, genuineness, or authenticity. The things that come out of me are now just creatively-delivered bull shit that mean nothing to me or anyone else. I find it so damn hard to care about anything at all. I can feel the force of guilt begging me to just...care. I'm so deep down into this drone that my beliefs in life are dwindling to the pathetic and the lonely and being alright with it. How fucking sad is that? How fucking sad is it that I've made myself alright with being such a fucking scumbag?

Everyday I tell myself I'll be better. Everyday I tell myself I'll grab onto some dream again and bring myself back to life. But every night I fall asleep with the distress of failure and the pitiful realization that I simply don't want to do anything. Anything at all. This is called sinking. This is non-believing.

Monday, January 30, 2012

Trip

"You Make It So Easy"

I forget there's a roughness in your voice that I always liked. It's subtle and strange, and it suits you perfectly. But I've forgotten what they really sound like. I've forgotten the way you say things, and how your body goes with everything that comes out of your mouth. I used to tune in to you until the colors on the walls would change, or till I'm about to black out. And just that easily, I knew it'd be this addiction. I knew I wouldn't want anything else more. I knew it'd be like losing my mind.

Trip

"You Make It So Easy"

I forget there's a roughness in your voice that I always liked. It's subtle and strange, and it suits you perfectly. But I've forgotten what they really sound like. I've forgotten the way you say things, and how your body goes with everything that comes out of your mouth. I used to tune in to you until the colors on the walls would change, or till I'm about to black out. And just that easily, I knew it'd be this addiction. I knew I wouldn't want anything else more. I knew it'd be like losing my mind.

Saturday, January 28, 2012

I'm Being Busy

See me on that community college campus. I have no sense of time.

I'm Being Busy

See me on that community college campus. I have no sense of time.

Monday, January 23, 2012

Grinding My Teeth

I just started this awful habit. I get nervous so I grind, but I get nervous when I grind. I'm just grinding. Don't mind me.

Grinding My Teeth

I just started this awful habit. I get nervous so I grind, but I get nervous when I grind. I'm just grinding. Don't mind me.

Sunday, January 22, 2012

Lemons

It's stupid because I catch myself missing your company. And I feel as stupid as it is for feeling that way. I keep repeating the amount of times I put my money on you. Hoped it'd be alright when you're around. That she could be happy, somehow. But just like up those escalators, you will always be a fucking asshole. You have royally served us. And now I have to watch the remains of the shit you left behind.

And fuck you because watching this makes my stomach churn.

Lemons

It's stupid because I catch myself missing your company. And I feel as stupid as it is for feeling that way. I keep repeating the amount of times I put my money on you. Hoped it'd be alright when you're around. That she could be happy, somehow. But just like up those escalators, you will always be a fucking asshole. You have royally served us. And now I have to watch the remains of the shit you left behind.

And fuck you because watching this makes my stomach churn.

Wednesday, January 18, 2012

Tug At Me

It's alright, I can take it. I can take the unpromising. I can take the brevity. I can take the wavering. I can take the fading. The mutable. The movable. The uncertainty. The doubt. The hesitance. I can take the shyness, the indefinite, the cowardliness. I can take the weaving, the bobbing, the swerving, shaking, ducking, and hiding. I can take it. So tug at me. Pull me close, tell me pretty things. I can take it. I want my chest to rip itself open and let it in. Because I can take it. Everything comes and goes. Just come in. I'll be saloon doors, swinging.

If not, I'd come running anyway.

Tug At Me

It's alright, I can take it. I can take the unpromising. I can take the brevity. I can take the wavering. I can take the fading. The mutable. The movable. The uncertainty. The doubt. The hesitance. I can take the shyness, the indefinite, the cowardliness. I can take the weaving, the bobbing, the swerving, shaking, ducking, and hiding. I can take it. So tug at me. Pull me close, tell me pretty things. I can take it. I want my chest to rip itself open and let it in. Because I can take it. Everything comes and goes. Just come in. I'll be saloon doors, swinging.

If not, I'd come running anyway.

Indecision and Apathy

A buddy of mine could and would probably use these specific words. But they're really just funny ways of saying "I don't know and I don't care." I do wish I liked anything like anyone who has a pulse would like something. Dull, blunt, lackluster, dim, tedious.

Indecision and Apathy

A buddy of mine could and would probably use these specific words. But they're really just funny ways of saying "I don't know and I don't care." I do wish I liked anything like anyone who has a pulse would like something. Dull, blunt, lackluster, dim, tedious.

Tuesday, January 17, 2012

Inseperable, Again

There will always be just one person I could possibly need. I know her like the back of my hand. Like I've never known anyone.

"It's one of those times when I don't feel like my life sucks."

I was carsick, buzzed from the nicotine, and slow from the chronic. I staggered, drunk from a wave of sickness as I chased the waves. There was this fear that comforted me as I measured how closely I approached the ocean. I was a small spec and I never felt more at place. She walked around behind me, holding herself to keep from the cold. I knew she felt the same. You couldn't make out anything but dark, shadowed shapes, the crashing of the waves, our sniffling and shuffling, the small light of a cigarette, and the time slowing after 4am. We couldn't feel our toes and the sky was enormous. And everything was enormous. I could stay a small spec, I thought. We could go to beaches, and she could dig herself into holes, and I could chase those waves. We can forget about things like the feeling of our toes and just walk along.

Inseperable, Again

There will always be just one person I could possibly need. I know her like the back of my hand. Like I've never known anyone.

"It's one of those times when I don't feel like my life sucks."

I was carsick, buzzed from the nicotine, and slow from the chronic. I staggered, drunk from a wave of sickness as I chased the waves. There was this fear that comforted me as I measured how closely I approached the ocean. I was a small spec and I never felt more at place. She walked around behind me, holding herself to keep from the cold. I knew she felt the same. You couldn't make out anything but dark, shadowed shapes, the crashing of the waves, our sniffling and shuffling, the small light of a cigarette, and the time slowing after 4am. We couldn't feel our toes and the sky was enormous. And everything was enormous. I could stay a small spec, I thought. We could go to beaches, and she could dig herself into holes, and I could chase those waves. We can forget about things like the feeling of our toes and just walk along.

Fucking Mistake

"It began as a mistake." -just like that goddamn Bukowski.

If my teeth are chattering then we're probably at the right place and time. And it's probably a mistake and I'll probably take my words back. Oftentimes my emotions and impulsion have me so tightly constricted that the only other solution I can come up with is to profess every single haunting and taunting thought or idea in my head, place them on a table, and put them in fucking order from least to greatest stutters. But once my chest deflates, I breathe in a chatter and shake my head for it all to go away again. I told myself to stick to writing these hopeless, sappy letters oozing with melodramatic drunkenness and a disgusting cycle of repetitive desperation. I don't fucking know why I did that. I don't fucking know.

Fucking Mistake

"It began as a mistake." -just like that goddamn Bukowski.

If my teeth are chattering then we're probably at the right place and time. And it's probably a mistake and I'll probably take my words back. Oftentimes my emotions and impulsion have me so tightly constricted that the only other solution I can come up with is to profess every single haunting and taunting thought or idea in my head, place them on a table, and put them in fucking order from least to greatest stutters. But once my chest deflates, I breathe in a chatter and shake my head for it all to go away again. I told myself to stick to writing these hopeless, sappy letters oozing with melodramatic drunkenness and a disgusting cycle of repetitive desperation. I don't fucking know why I did that. I don't fucking know.

Sunday, January 15, 2012

Where am I?

My grandmother passed. After being told she was gone, I couldn't help but feel this slow ascending of suppressed anger rise out of me. I felt sick even 1) because I was drunk and tired when I'd received the call 2) because after years of knowing her, I finally recognized a feeling for her. A feeling that doesn't exactly warm the heart when told that someone had passed. It was just this unmoving anger. An anger not potent enough for rage but enough to linger once in a while during the quiet of my thoughts.

She never really cared for me. She never wanted much to do with me. With us. She never seemed happy to me. She never seemed like there was even much life in her. It was in our inopportune time that we got to meet her when life had decided to pile on her regrets and bitterness. There wasn't much for me to know. It was just gambling. It was all that mattered to her. I just hope that there was more to her than who I've known. I just hope there was a time in her life that she chose to live and had been happy. I hope she left us without her regrets. I hope she left peacefully. Because otherwise, I don't ever want to be like that.

Rest In Peace.

Thursday, January 5, 2012

OASIS

"You have a beautiful voice."

It was refreshing to hear the strange voice of kindness and optimism. What is it about direct, personal human interaction that we obsoletely shy away from? It's already so lonely being in our conscious minds. But then again... I routinely find myself being displeased with people. So no argument or preaching.

Passed the misanthropy that I typically can't shake, a strange conversation with no bias or emotions is nice to have on a shitty day. It's all impressions with no promises.

Refreshing.

A Summary

"Somewhere in 2011, I got bored with who I am and everyone who surrounds me.

I thought my relationship with the word ‘bored’ died the same time AIM did…but I guess not.

Cheers to a lifetime of inescapable boredom."


ARCHIVE, FUCKERS (for Ace-like purposes)