+requiem for starlets+
I know that I’ve been neglecting this journal for the past year or so. I know that I’ve detached myself completely from people that are my closest friends. And the strange this is, I still don’t know why I did it. It all started with a simple malady of the soul, and then it transmuted into something bigger, and before I knew it the darkness had swallowed me whole.
The more I avoid the media, the more I seem to get involved in situations or scandals that hold no linkage to me, other than I know the ones that are being labeled as “criminals.” I find it hard to believe that all this so-called corruption was going on for so long and only now they worry themselves with trying to find the culprits.
There’s a vast gap between me and the people I used to know, or thought I knew. There’s a barren wasteland in my heart where I wish I could replace it when pretty flowers, but everything is shriveled up.
London has become a strange capsule for me. A place where I can avoid the people from “over there.”
My tethered feelings keep me chained to something I’m not quite sure of. A mirage? A chimera? I’m chasing dreams that probably don’t even belong to me.
I’ve become allergic to lyrics, as to why I’ve begun listening to instrumentals. No singer is gonna tell ME what direction my emotions should go in.
On a lighter note, I’m quite content to see that Jon is indeed ALIVE and well (I reckon?). If any of you are wondering what I’ll be up to this summer, you’ll find me overdosing on live music and hanging out with musicians, but start calling me Penny Lane.
The more I avoid the media, the more I seem to get involved in situations or scandals that hold no linkage to me, other than I know the ones that are being labeled as “criminals.” I find it hard to believe that all this so-called corruption was going on for so long and only now they worry themselves with trying to find the culprits.
There’s a vast gap between me and the people I used to know, or thought I knew. There’s a barren wasteland in my heart where I wish I could replace it when pretty flowers, but everything is shriveled up.
London has become a strange capsule for me. A place where I can avoid the people from “over there.”
My tethered feelings keep me chained to something I’m not quite sure of. A mirage? A chimera? I’m chasing dreams that probably don’t even belong to me.
I’ve become allergic to lyrics, as to why I’ve begun listening to instrumentals. No singer is gonna tell ME what direction my emotions should go in.
On a lighter note, I’m quite content to see that Jon is indeed ALIVE and well (I reckon?). If any of you are wondering what I’ll be up to this summer, you’ll find me overdosing on live music and hanging out with musicians, but start calling me Penny Lane.