Blue hair, sedated eyes

under the ice

Some people dive into suffering as if it’s an indulgence.  Let’s face it.  Self loathe is not a badge of honor.  You’re not original or off beat or creative or special when you showcase your feelings to the world.  You’re original and creative and off beat and special when you refuse to accept anything lower than what you deserve.  Don’t advertise your suffering with neon signs and flashing lights.  Display your suffering where it’s meant to be: in solitude.

product

If we are the product of every thing(one) we try to run away from, what will be be once we finally get away?

O_O Are you serious?

Am I that much of a joke to everyone that everything I say is followed by an unspoken “just kidding, go and do whatever the fuck you want regardless of what i say” afterthought? It’s qualities like this in the human race that motivate me to seek  refuge in the imaginations of foreign outcasts and in the companionship of decayed rock stars.

the final stretch

Time has a way of disfiguring itself into a horrid monster that fucks you over in every position and setting possible.  And even as you’re steps away from the finish line, dragging your distressed boots across the sinking cement, your body gives into time’s mischievous plan.  Cloudy, your vision slowly morphs, until the cement and grass and fortress of yellow melt together.  It’s drowning, this feeling: a liberating gush of blindness, the closest thing you’ll ever get to a mind fuck of sweet ignorance.

ball and chain

I may not have a dick, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have the balls to take care of myself.

Would you be ma-mine?

thanks guys for the lovely night.

decency

“Love is where you find it. I think it is foolish to go around looking for it, and I think it can be poisonous. I wish people who are conventionally supposed to love each other would say to each other, when they fight, ‘Please-a little less love, and a little more common decency.” – Kurt Vonnegut

This made me lol. I really want to read Slapstick now.

the consistency of disappointment

Disappointment: it appears to have plagued my life, yet given my agitated reality a sense of consistency…but I suppose disappointment is inevitable.  It’s easy to fall into spontaneity and sign our names off to schemes we fail to execute, starting lines we never intend to reach.  People are like revolvers, triggered by intention, shooting promises and “I wills”, missing expectations completely. And these words, these vows, that people shoot are blank, dramatic and nonsensical in every aspect.

So, we defend ourselves from disappointment, from words, by stating our low expectations…but what are our statements other than blank bullets?

oh, sweet nuthin: bows, ruffles, pouts, and candy