bathtub ramblings
i never have much to say these days. my mind seems to be displaced while my body performs the mundane practicalities of modern life.
eat, sleep, work, repeat.
it creates a deep sense of awe knowing that people get trapped in this lifestyle indefinitely. everyday sounds of the collective unconsciousness of the sheep i am surrounded by constantly. the people that consider what i'm doing to be their life-long career. ...see my faith in humanity slipping away...
to think of all the dreams crushed. the hopes lost. the acceptance of what we like to call 'compromise'. it's disheartening to say the least. lives of sorrow converted to content by mantras of lowered expectations. ...things will be better next year...
i am trapped in another life. one of normality. of blind faith. my body atrophies until nothing is accepted but work. or the trip to the trough. or the open-faced coffin of my imagination. ...just have faith...
when will things change? i do not know. when will i regain the use of my creative outlet? when will my hands be able to finally express, without pain, that which my mind creates? i am the creation of my pain. a pain that will not cease. a pain that rolls on endlessly across the vastness of my own discontent. i am a keyboard intellectual. a closet idiot. a public humiliation. ...ONLY_CONSTANT = "change"...
i am an unpacked cigarette, a lighter without fluid, a computer without a user.
i am unsatiated addiction, a partner-less lover, a pessimistic optimist.
i am half full of emptiness. i am the user of a public journal. i am you.
eat, sleep, work, repeat.
it creates a deep sense of awe knowing that people get trapped in this lifestyle indefinitely. everyday sounds of the collective unconsciousness of the sheep i am surrounded by constantly. the people that consider what i'm doing to be their life-long career. ...see my faith in humanity slipping away...
to think of all the dreams crushed. the hopes lost. the acceptance of what we like to call 'compromise'. it's disheartening to say the least. lives of sorrow converted to content by mantras of lowered expectations. ...things will be better next year...
i am trapped in another life. one of normality. of blind faith. my body atrophies until nothing is accepted but work. or the trip to the trough. or the open-faced coffin of my imagination. ...just have faith...
when will things change? i do not know. when will i regain the use of my creative outlet? when will my hands be able to finally express, without pain, that which my mind creates? i am the creation of my pain. a pain that will not cease. a pain that rolls on endlessly across the vastness of my own discontent. i am a keyboard intellectual. a closet idiot. a public humiliation. ...ONLY_CONSTANT = "change"...
i am an unpacked cigarette, a lighter without fluid, a computer without a user.
i am unsatiated addiction, a partner-less lover, a pessimistic optimist.
i am half full of emptiness. i am the user of a public journal. i am you.