“Black Heart” by me.
INSOMNIA (also, I’m uploading a video I just recorded of myself doing what 20-somethings on tumblr are supposed to do — playing a song)
I am often haunted by an odd loneliness.
It’s not the acute pang of sadness you feel when you’re dumped, it’s not the overwhelming sense of impending madness you feel after being isolated for an extremely long period of time, and it’s certainly not the feeling you have when you peer out the window into the rain like they do in the movies.
This is a permanent state of melancholia. It’s a deep, slowly moving ocean of heartache you bob peacefully on, being sucked down a few feet into the gloominess every time a wave engulfs you. It’s a combination of white and black keys on a piano. It’s a bunch of other depressing metaphors I’m on the verge of spouting out mindlessly.
It’s always been there, and I have a feeling it always will be. It doesn’t matter who I’m with, what I’m doing, or where I am. Hell, it doesn’t matter how happy I am. Moments of bliss or euphoria or excitement are swift, and serve only to obscure the infinite mirthlessness that is always lingering underneath. It tinges everything with hints of sorrow.
The thing that seems most odd to me about it is how unbelievably beautiful I find it. As much as I hate it, this perpetual sadness is a gorgeous thing. I think most emotions have the potential to have true beauty in the right light, but I think sadness is the most astonishing in that regard. And as much as I sometimes wish it weren’t there, I cannot lie; I am for the most part thankful to have it in my life. Not in the sense that “you can’t have happiness without sadness” but in the sense that I’m glad I have the capacity to view my world through its lens.
WRITING AGAIN
(I’m not going to lie, I fiddled with a hipstertastic photo-editor “PicYou” out of boredom)
this is how we clean it (OR “cleaning is better than sex?”)
So, when I have to clean lots of things (like, say, my apartment, which I just did) I have this very specific way I have to go about everything.
I do not consider myself obsessive compulsive normally, but that changes drastically when I clean. Everything has to be spotless. I spend 15 minutes cleaning the mirror in the bathroom. I spend 10 minutes a piece cleaning each specific part of the toilet. I wipe down the kitchen counters 4 times each. I use 409 for general purpose wiping, tilex with bleach for the toilet and inside of the shower, windex for any glass/mirror surfaces, and clorox (without bleach) for any other surfaces in the bathroom. Fuck those green-eco-pussy-friendly cleaners, those don’t do shit and they smell like my grandmother’s closet. I use my swifferjet to mop the floors, and I go through about 5 of those pads for each room.
I crank up some music, light up a cigarette, crack open a red bull, and go fucking crazy. It’s incredibly cathartic. And not once, during all of this cleaning, taking out the trash, wiping, dusting, and vacuuming do I wash my hands (or any part of my body). By the end of it I am pretty sweaty and nasty and dirty, so then, I step into my sparkling clean bathroom, and take a really long, overly-thorough shower.
Then I put on a fresh set of clothes, listen to my music, smoke a cigarette and let my hair dry (it’s very thick so it takes a while, a towel alone won’t do it and I refuse to blow-dry). And that, my friends, is the best goddamn feeling in the fucking world.
I would encourage you all to stop listening to inspiring quotes and to stop obsessing over interesting photographs that you didn’t take. I would also encourage you to live some of your life yourself and form your opinions and feelings on those experiences, rather than the experiences of people you do not know who you admire. Also, for you poets and musicians, I’d encourage you to not try to style your works after those that you admire. Sure, it’s really, really tempting, but come on, make something completely for yourself, even if no one but you will ever enjoy it.
Stuff like this absolutely infuriates me. It always has. I wonder if that’s somehow evidence of my insanity. I don’t think I’m insane. It’s just that these things strike me as inane and cliché. I’m not against love or profound emotional feelings. I’m just against fucking bullshit. Love and romance are incredibly sacred to me, and to think that the intricacies of such things can be summarized in fucking text on the internet enrages me. Even if it can be written on the internet, it fucking shouldn’t be. It trivializes everything.
I think one of the biggest flaws of social communication is trends. We follow them for absolutely no reason other than the fact that other people do. It’s a fucking gut-wrenching experience when someone breaks up with you and, rather than telling you the real reason, they spout out some fucking bullshit nonsense they heard in a movie or read in a book, because it sounds good and because other people do it. Once I dated this girl who, every time I would say “I’m sorry,” regardless of what it was for, she would say “I am too.” — that’s the kind of shit I’m talking about. She didn’t actually feel sorry 99% of the time, she just said it because she had heard it in movies and it sounded fucking neat to her. Each experience we have is completely unique, and dealing with those experiences with cookie-cutter responses we learned from popular trends makes a fucking mockery out of the whole thing. If you love someone but you can’t be with them any longer because, for example, they’re crass and always out partying, say that to them. Say “I’m sorry, it’s just that you’re always out with your friends instead of spending time with me, and you’re always really obnoxious and it kind of makes me uncomfortable.” Don’t say some fucking vague speech you learned and rehearsed from a Zooey Deschanel movie.
(Source: , via youngfolksociety)
I was standing outside of a coffeehouse today
and I heard two people talking, and one of them said to the other, “Yeah man, life’s too short to smoke bad weed” and then took a long drag of his cigarette. And then I said “Life’s too short to ride most theme park rides.”
