Saturday, May 7, 2011
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
I'm angry all the time now. I'm angry at everything. I find myself getting angry at everyone. I can't stabilize my thoughts. It's like I'm having heat flashes. I feel my face turn red. I feel my heart race. My chest feels like it will rip open while body tries to swallow it whole. My breathing loses its pace. I excessively blink, like everything in front of me leaves me in disbelief. My head swims and the temperature of my body rises. I'm boiling, I'm fucking boiling.
I was driving home earlier and I found myself feeling more alone than I have in such a long time. There's this annoying nothingness inside me that keeps weighing me down. I keep lying. I'm just lying. I don't want to talk about anything. Alone? How could I feel this alone? How could I feel alone to the point of anger? It doesn't make sense. I've never complained about being alone. What is this now?
I was driving home earlier and I found myself feeling more alone than I have in such a long time. There's this annoying nothingness inside me that keeps weighing me down. I keep lying. I'm just lying. I don't want to talk about anything. Alone? How could I feel this alone? How could I feel alone to the point of anger? It doesn't make sense. I've never complained about being alone. What is this now?
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Patrick Bateman
"There are no more barriers to cross. All I have in common with the uncontrollable and the insane, the vicious and the evil, all the mayhem I have caused and my utter indifference toward it I have now surpassed. My pain is constant and sharp and I do not hope for a better world for anyone, in fact I want my pain to be inflicted on others. I want no one to escape, but even after admitting this there is no catharsis, my punishment continues to elude me and I gain no deeper knowledge of myself; no new knowledge can be extracted from my telling. This confession has meant nothing."
-American Psycho
Watching this movie reminded me of reading The Seven Days of Peter Crumb. Aside from having their bloodlust in common, this film and the book have a similar mood and tone. I felt the same way. The same hair-raising monologues, in detail about the mundane and the insignificant but giving such eerie delivery. I really enjoy films and books like this. I like the gruesome and psychotic thrill. It's not like a scary movie kind of thrill. It's twisted.
The day that I never thought would come
It was a little strange at first, knowing so confidently, so certainly, almost boldly. This isn't a mistake or a misunderstanding. And I'm not over-looking anything, avoiding anything, or deny anything. I am simply...moving forward.
I remember the day exactly because once I felt it, once I really knew it, I sat myself on my desk and began writing. My hands cramped under the yellow lamp light beside me, I remember. It was as if rushing myself to document the very moment and my very thoughts would freeze it all and make it permanent. But really, I didn't need to be so anxious. I just couldn't help myself. It was relieving, like being freed.
I didn't try to over-analyze it. I couldn't, probably, even if I tried. It came so simply, so casually even. But I did give it thought for reassurance. I sat there thinking, giving light to any of its darkness. I found some clarity once I tried to imagine myself being who I was before it came to me. I realized that I no longer fell asleep thinking about it, nor do I wake up thinking about it like I did every day for as long as I can remember. It didn't creep slyly through out my day for it to kick me in the back of knee or nudge me by my side. I couldn't feel my chest throb when I would flash memories in front of myself. The late cloudy afternoons that turned into those painful nights inside my room, under the covers... turned into glimpses of memories that I would soon forget. The only songs that made sense then were now either just really pretty songs, really good songs, really bad songs, or just another Pop song. They weren't songs that I wanted to list under a vague name with the rest of the songs that reminded me. The words that I once held on to like a helpless child were erasable. The same words that I would read over and over again or repeat in my head over and over again. The promises, the heart aches both good and bad. Even the moments, the very rare and very sacred moments, that took my breath away in the most fantastically tragic and hopeless way became stories that wouldn't matter to be told. Brown eyes became common and insignificant in my world again. Everything I once held precious just wasn't anymore. I just felt as if I finally packed up my old things and stored them away. There was no emptiness, no open wounds. It wasn't replaced with something else. I just finally... let it go. And for maybe over 4 years, that was all I ever really wanted.
The day that I never thought would come hit me point blank in the face. This isn't a life-changing realization. This is just a realization. Who knows how long I've really been this way and not have known it? Some things that we really want effortlessly find their way to us. Some things, that is. Sometimes.
I didn't try to over-analyze it. I couldn't, probably, even if I tried. It came so simply, so casually even. But I did give it thought for reassurance. I sat there thinking, giving light to any of its darkness. I found some clarity once I tried to imagine myself being who I was before it came to me. I realized that I no longer fell asleep thinking about it, nor do I wake up thinking about it like I did every day for as long as I can remember. It didn't creep slyly through out my day for it to kick me in the back of knee or nudge me by my side. I couldn't feel my chest throb when I would flash memories in front of myself. The late cloudy afternoons that turned into those painful nights inside my room, under the covers... turned into glimpses of memories that I would soon forget. The only songs that made sense then were now either just really pretty songs, really good songs, really bad songs, or just another Pop song. They weren't songs that I wanted to list under a vague name with the rest of the songs that reminded me. The words that I once held on to like a helpless child were erasable. The same words that I would read over and over again or repeat in my head over and over again. The promises, the heart aches both good and bad. Even the moments, the very rare and very sacred moments, that took my breath away in the most fantastically tragic and hopeless way became stories that wouldn't matter to be told. Brown eyes became common and insignificant in my world again. Everything I once held precious just wasn't anymore. I just felt as if I finally packed up my old things and stored them away. There was no emptiness, no open wounds. It wasn't replaced with something else. I just finally... let it go. And for maybe over 4 years, that was all I ever really wanted.
The day that I never thought would come hit me point blank in the face. This isn't a life-changing realization. This is just a realization. Who knows how long I've really been this way and not have known it? Some things that we really want effortlessly find their way to us. Some things, that is. Sometimes.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Twins
Mikal purchased a pillow pet, joining the pillow pet heads. Guillermo has yet to meet this guy.
The turtle's twin, a watermelon and some banana friends.
No beanie will ever compare
The beanie of summer '09. Kenneth's. I wore it to every firepit night. Mikal found it while finally cleaning her room. All the washed up memories of that summer flashed right before my eyes when I saw this. Coincidentally really because I asked her where this hat had gone 2 days ago. And I know she didn't return it to him. I haven't taken this hat off since we reunited. I feel as if I'm really going in detail about this hat... Ellipses...
There are no birthdays in this town. Not this town.
-I didn't see it coming.
Jarrad and I will get married one day.
-Glad Bieb made it to the soiree
-Jamie's haircut did wonders to her eyebrows.
-Arnold.
-Fitzgerald
-Dro, eyebrows of fury.
-Of African American descent. Never of Asian.
-The Dirty Mexican
-The Bickering.
-God I love this face. She'll hate this, I already know it. I wish she could just embrace her unconventional sense of beauty. It's almost painful really.
LG. Jarsad. Scorca. And TAM.
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