maanantai 22. huhtikuuta 2013
Taking a break
Yeah, I had a lot to say.
I guess I'll say all those things when I come back.
Oh Jesus, it's so fucking beautiful outside. Spring always comes as a surprise, kind of smacks you in the face and you're left straying with a lovely daze.
I'll come back with my poetry, but first: I've got other things to do.
See ya, ghosts.
I guess I'll say all those things when I come back.
Oh Jesus, it's so fucking beautiful outside. Spring always comes as a surprise, kind of smacks you in the face and you're left straying with a lovely daze.
I'll come back with my poetry, but first: I've got other things to do.
See ya, ghosts.
sunnuntai 21. huhtikuuta 2013
I just have to face the music
Why are you doing this?
Doing what?
Wasting your testosterone high on this?
On what?
Kicking cans. Sitting on the floor. Living like a dead person.
Leave me alone.
Life is knocking on your door.
Don't touch me!
Why are you hiding?
Stop scratching me!!!
it feels like Christmas
A person with a good memory is a person with a lot to be afraid of; because whatever life throws at you, you'll never forget, your scars will never heal, they will never go away; ultimately all you can do is learn to accept them and love them, and that is a very difficult thing to do.
Loving blood is a very difficult thing to do. But once you manage to do it, you know that you can do anything.
With exhaustion,
Dzhohar Tsarnajev
Loving blood is a very difficult thing to do. But once you manage to do it, you know that you can do anything.
With exhaustion,
Dzhohar Tsarnajev
torstai 18. huhtikuuta 2013
cmtry gates
The unbearably mindblowing thing about dead people is that they no longer exist, and therefore I'm posting this again,
because they really, really, really don't exist anymore, most of them haven't existed for a while; James Dean doesn't exist; he once was a person with dreams and thoughts and fears and stomach aches, but that entity no longer exists, James Dean no longer exists, he's just a ghost caught on tape, just as unable to feel anything as a shoe box caught on tape; and even though I can watch him walk and talk and look sad, that's just an illusion: he isn't actually there, and ultimately the only place where he walks and talks and looks sad is my head. And this is how it is for Marilyn Monroe and for most of my friends. And Bukowski and Oscar Wilde and all those people, they don't exist anymore, they actually aren't here talking to me, all that's left is a number of sentences; what they felt, what they thought, what they found funny, it only exists in my head now, as a ghost, as an illusion, because they are dead, dead, dead
Why does this always strike me at 8 AM?
because they really, really, really don't exist anymore, most of them haven't existed for a while; James Dean doesn't exist; he once was a person with dreams and thoughts and fears and stomach aches, but that entity no longer exists, James Dean no longer exists, he's just a ghost caught on tape, just as unable to feel anything as a shoe box caught on tape; and even though I can watch him walk and talk and look sad, that's just an illusion: he isn't actually there, and ultimately the only place where he walks and talks and looks sad is my head. And this is how it is for Marilyn Monroe and for most of my friends. And Bukowski and Oscar Wilde and all those people, they don't exist anymore, they actually aren't here talking to me, all that's left is a number of sentences; what they felt, what they thought, what they found funny, it only exists in my head now, as a ghost, as an illusion, because they are dead, dead, dead
Why does this always strike me at 8 AM?
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