old habits die handsome

hey.

still me again.

i don't think i ever crave anything anymore. not even people. not even you. 

("you" is the most commonly romanticized pronoun of all the pronouns. its vagueness rings so relatable for anybody. it gives anonymity to the cowards with sorrows bleeding out their guts. i'm not particularly partial to writing anything [unless i'm addressing a group of people or i'm composing a letter] with the pronoun "you." but if you've gotten anything functioning properly up there, you'd understand that this specific parenthetical paragraph is a scrupulous attempt at a disclaimer as to why i would ever type "not even you" up there. and if you really know how to put things together, you'd understand that after my admission regarding this parenthetical paragraph to be a disclaimer, you'd have already figured out that the next paragraph would be a terse and apathetic declaration of how little i care about your opinion of me. any of this making sense? i fucking doubt it [still arrogant]. check tumblr for romanticism of the "you" pronoun references. the place is crawling with it).

but, whatever. 

post idiot morning

Hey.

It's me again.

Currently 0745, and these avian things are making sounds at me. I won't mimic (mimicking birds played cool stuff the other night though, glad i saw them).

There was something i wanted to say, but thinking now, i don't want to say them anymore.

I'm at a constant internal battle between wanting to share my thoughts and sentiments versus pushing for an insane level of privacy.

Keep in mind that i will never make up my mind.

Growing up, i thought i wanted to be a temptress. I've aged, and i now know that i would rather be tempted by one instead.

Pro Nouns

When I read it, at first I thought it was about something in the forefront of my mind. But I put my phone away, I tuned into a movie that I've seen three times, and I rolled over in my bed, caught by the blackness I had drawn. Then everything in the movie reminded me of things I only allow in small, accidental doses. There is supposed to be something dying inside me. I can feel my calves twitching still and my feet are cold, as they always are. I am deflated, but the wrong things are dying inside me.

pretty girl

yesterday, i asked mak to touch up my nape since she neglected it for an entire month (yeah she's responsible for my responsibilities). and she decided to leave two rogue-ass little pieces of grown out gross. very pretty girl. 

not mad decent

the other night, ace, mak, and i went to oakland for sick sad decent and inadvertently saw diplo. i guess he was the secret guest dj. ace fan girled tbh. i mean he really was handsome. 

trickles

drunk uploads from my phone

@_@

rejected sentiments, always

how many idiots does it take to change a light bulb?

ONE. ONE IDIOT. I'M THE BEST.

i've been doing this. very exciting video content.

wean

She doesn't listen to Interpol.

A story about a friend

luv u

And the sight of you

undressed

has made a wreck of me

yeah?

this is what I look like lately, I guess

I realize I only take selfies when I've had a drink

Mmmmmmm shit

That was fucking weird

My bad

a holy hand gesture

it was a sunday afternoon. i was home alone, sat on the dinner table, glasses sliding off my face as i hunched over this laptop. 

i was home alone so i decided to watch ...nope, wrong guess. i was not watching porn. it was not porn, but i suppose some prick could argue otherwise. anyway, so i was here, slightly blushing at the viewing pleasure of such a goddamn sexy scene. it felt silly because i came to realize that i had never watched any sexy scene on any dinner table. dinner tables aren't for watching sexy scenes. family dinner tables are not for watching sexy scenes. but frankly, that fact didn't stop me from continuing to watch these goddamn sexy scenes. i kept looking around just to make sure that no one's home because, my god, dinner tables are not for watching sexy scenes. i had been home alone for a few hours. i had been absolutely home alone, but paranoia strikes anyway when the sudden realization of a boner comes stiffening up at me. (un?)fortunately, my nutty boner limped when i turned to my right and saw the statue of baby jesus giving me a vague half peace sign, half middle finger. i closed all the sexy tabs from the show that i couldn't even the recall the title of. minutes later, my parents walk in from the front door, greeting me. 

word count on the use of the word sexy: seven 

rip bay st

I will never be over it.

I'd been escaping coming home, but every time I try and stay out for as long as I can, I run out of places to be.

Tonight, I chose Bean Scene, previously Bay St (RIP, OH GOD). Upon ordering a mediocre ass tuna melt, a mediocre ass salad, and an average ass earl grey, I was informed that the establishment closes at eight pm. Mind that I arrived fifteens minutes before said time. I do recall my mouth actually flying open in reaction to such an absurd closing hour. So, I took my order to-go and again realized that I have no where else to be. Listen--let me divulge my current whereabouts. I'm sitting outside of Bean Scene with my mediocre ass meal, eating on the patio furniture, in the dark. It's relatively uncommon to find people dining alone in public, especially someone of my age and appearance (shout out to that xx chromosome). Already I'm receiving these half-pitying, half-suspicious glances from a number of passersby. Typically, being glanced at with such vague judgment by all these strangers would bother me to the point of muttering my profanities (but not quite enough to be uncomfortable). But I'm sitting here--slouching really--shoveling plants in my mouth and chomping on a sandwich like the smug scoundrel that I am. I'm eating a salad for fuck's sake and I can barely see a thing. This is a good fucking night. But the thing is, I never understand the kind of unease that comes with seeing some stranger eating alone in public. This is, by far, one of my favorite pastimes. I happen to like sitting in solitude without really having to be bothered with conversation. Maybe I'm growing more attracted to the sort of presumptions that come with seeing someone eat alone. I like seeing that look on their faces. Like they can't grasp what the fuck it is I'm doing here, sitting quietly, pouncing on my meal. I really do get smug about it. As if no one else around has a company better than my own company (shout out to Me, Myself, and I by Beyonce).

I miss Bay St. but I'm glad I'm sitting here, squinting down at my salad and sandwich.

PS. I heard through the grapevine that a Starbucks is opening next door. Thoughts? Jesus fucking Christ.

scaramouch

i keep using the word "strive" like i actually ever strive for anything. i don't strive. i don't actually ever strive. if i did, maybe i wouldn't be so often in this loop of a lull. i'm not depressed, i'm quite literally a depressive. you couldn't imagine the sort of brick wall that came flying at my face the moment i realized that. you couldn't imagine much of anybody's life because it's not yours. as far as you are concerned, your own thoughts and observations are fiction. you can't ever actually know somebody's else's life. everything is fiction, and i don't believe a god damn thing. 

if aliens were so highly intelligent and biologically advanced, would they really need light to land their goddamn space ship? wouldn't the moon be enough light source for them to land a goddamn space ship on goddamn planet earth? i think so, i really think so. i think that we expect to see lights when they visit us because we would have lights if we were to visit another planet. but they're not humans. humans are idiots. and idiot is a term coined with a certain sentiment, a certain emotion that only a human could coin. it's so pathetic. we are so very pathetic.

pratfall

Without acknowledgement or certain realization, I had always strived for this existence to be as elusive as it possibly can. I never strived for a sort of greatness. Or success. Or happiness. Or love, or what have you. My idiot self decided to instead shamelessly veer through life. This idiocy I'm so fond of, so proud of. It won't take me anywhere. Even now, I have my own head tilting to the thought of it. I lie still, wrapped in a wet towel, trying to remember how not to elude myself.

calvous

chewing red meat like a junkyard dog, glancing up to catch foreheads floating up the clouds

a smug squirrel had me terrified, I ran passed the sliding doors, clammy

I rubbed it off on my pants

I balled it up and opened to rub off on my pants

are I?

It's dismissable to be cold. It's unacceptable, however, to be cruel.

In light of the grimness that is seemingly my disposition, I'm optimistic to believe that I strive to do no harm. It's the simplest concept I live by. Although, I do believe in justifiable vengeance (i.e. don't cross my fucking path chris wies).

In terse summation, don't fuck anybody up. Fuck yourself up all you want, but leave the rest of them out of it. Because some shit stay with people. Cruelty isn't fucking cool man.

uncool shit

when I turn around to see that the person I'm watching a movie with has fallen asleep. I always end up feeling betrayed bruh.

Jaws is the only person I can watch anything with.

a manic depressive named laughing boy

and you let your bridges burn
with your secretive timing
she was a manic depressive named laughing boy

i take comfort in pretending to be asleep. i get tired of being tired, but i always end up retiring to lie still. my head throbs like a reminder. my head throbs a very unforgetting fuck. i have too many tendencies and i don't ever feel like screaming. groan from one morning to the next. groaning grows quickly but exhausts quicker. it's laughable because this is what alright looks like. this is what fine feels like. this is for treading, because the passed months have been worse. the passed months were vicious. so if this calm is what alright looks like, if this calm is what fine feels like, i can't begin to think about whether this is worse than what i've felt was worse. 

they all died cheerily