(no subject)
Nothing is as theraputic as the soft pounding of piano keys.
It is easy to imagine your protagonist of choice staring blankly into the dark.
(just maybe my protagonist of choice is me)
A rich green chesterfield, and dimmed antique lighting. There's that song again, that song that had the misfortune of becoming a "classic".
What are classics but bad habits, really?
We've all got enough of those. I know I do. I'm indulging in one right now.
Click Clack, click clack.
So many people have played these notes.
I've got the urge to be chemical, and slightly unbalanced. How odd, especially considering my body is making an effort to fight me on this one. I feel like my stomach is tossing and turning in protest to my self destructive life choices.
This season, this stress season, this informational harvest- it's going to hurt.
It's very likely that things are going to finally not go at all as planned, and I'll come home downtrodden and lost instead of triumphant and validated. It will be my own fault- but I can't actually find the words to explain the kind of crippling indifference/disinterest/self-loathing that wraps its self around me these days.
It's really quite something to see. When i visualize it, it often appears to be some kind of giant pink(?) blanket made of foam or something equally unlikely that is so dense I cannot raise myself from underneath it.
Oh come on snow, oh come on. Or will you dissapoint me too?
I guess what I'm saying is, there's just got to be more.
And I have a strong attachment to these notes.
It is easy to imagine your protagonist of choice staring blankly into the dark.
(just maybe my protagonist of choice is me)
A rich green chesterfield, and dimmed antique lighting. There's that song again, that song that had the misfortune of becoming a "classic".
What are classics but bad habits, really?
We've all got enough of those. I know I do. I'm indulging in one right now.
Click Clack, click clack.
So many people have played these notes.
I've got the urge to be chemical, and slightly unbalanced. How odd, especially considering my body is making an effort to fight me on this one. I feel like my stomach is tossing and turning in protest to my self destructive life choices.
This season, this stress season, this informational harvest- it's going to hurt.
It's very likely that things are going to finally not go at all as planned, and I'll come home downtrodden and lost instead of triumphant and validated. It will be my own fault- but I can't actually find the words to explain the kind of crippling indifference/disinterest/self-loathing that wraps its self around me these days.
It's really quite something to see. When i visualize it, it often appears to be some kind of giant pink(?) blanket made of foam or something equally unlikely that is so dense I cannot raise myself from underneath it.
Oh come on snow, oh come on. Or will you dissapoint me too?
I guess what I'm saying is, there's just got to be more.
And I have a strong attachment to these notes.