w.e.l.c.o.m.e.
get around using the links on the right
leave some love on the shout box
“There are so many hammocks to catch you if you fall,
so many laws to keep you from experience.
All these cities I have been in the last few weeks make me fully understand the cozy,
stifling state in which most people pass through life.
I don't want to pass through life like a smooth plane ride.
All you do is get to breathe and copulate and finally die.
I don't want to go with the smooth skin and the calm brow.
I hope I end up a blithering idiot cursing the sun -
hallucinating, screaming, giving obscene and inane lectures on street corners and public parks.
People will walk by and say, "Look at that drooling idiot. What a basket case."
I will turn and say to them
"It is you who are the basket case. For every moment you hated your job,
cursed your wife and sold yourself to a dream that you didn't even conceive.
For the times your soul screamed yes and you said no. For all of that.
For your self-torture, I see the glowing eyes of the sun! The air talks to me! I am at all times!"
And maybe, the passers by will drop a coin into my cup.”
-Henry Rollins
w.o.r.d.s.
Saturday, April 14, 11:16 a.m.
I was worried I wouldn't get getting enough hours.
45+ a week.
And I start school in May.
Tuesday, April 10, 8:14 p.m.
Maybe I am selfish.
I want all of you. To only have some of you. To have to share you. Is torture.
But how can I explain that to you?
That all the hours in all the days aren't enough. And that I would rather not see you at all then to be teased by your inconstant presence.
You want me to love you and I'm sure that I do.
But how could I ever say it?
How could I ever say it?
When there's this knot in my stomach because I haven't seen you in three days and nothing is going to change that.
How can I let myself feel comfortable enough with you when at the same time I feel like you're always on your way out.
I am selfish.
Because I do know that you try and that I am all the things to you that I want to be.
So why is it that it's never enough?
Maybe it's just my way.
To feel constantly discontent. To never drop my guard enough to let the sun in.
To expect the worst, the hurt.
To expect to be alone in the end.
When it matters.
In the middle of the night.
Sunday, April 8, 2:46 p.m.
Got a new job. Started it.
It feels like a new life.
I ripped down the blankets that have been covering my windows for the past 8 months. Blocking out sunshine, blocking out life (it felt like).
Maybe it's just because it's spring. I always feel so light this time of year. I feel hope. I'm happier. Winter is hard to survive sometimes, I crave the sun.
It's hard to feel free when you're snowed in, rained in, shut in by the constant dark and the constant cold. Always uncomfortable, breathing stale air. It isn't natural.
The apartment is clean and I'm listening to good music, reading good poetry, books, whatever.
I'm comfortable in my skin even though I'm just wearing my pj's and I haven't showered yet. My hair is messy and tied back, my skin isn't hiding behind makeup. My war paint I joke, except it's not really a joke at all. It's my armor, my barrier. It stops everyone from seeing me. Or at least, seeing me for who I really am.
It is moments like this, that make life worth living.
They're rarely exciting or amazing.
It's just a feeling.
I am more than content.
