Loosen your grip...
Events? Trivial. Two shows in two days, two days without work, two days of mucking about finding things to do that are not really to do, or fun, or productive, besides the almost-stabbing (by me) of a couple angry poor people who decided to attack us because we weren't being "American is the best country in the world!" assholes, and decided to support a different country instead.
But the mind stays busy, and does not dwell.
Tonight, tonight in discussion, tonight in misguidance...
I do not need spirituality simply because I am "intelligent" nor shall I be privy to a curfew seeing as how I can finally go about my business as an adult because my age seems to indicate that I am all grown up and can finally make decisions for myself. However, that is not the case, of course... why parents have to turn Nazi again overnight I do not know.
I curl up in Skyclad and Agalloch and H. P. Lovecraft, and begin a long night of sadness, nihilism, and sleeplessness.
Tomorrow only brings the smell of expensive coffees and work. Middle-aged women driving huge cars with nothing in them, getting 15mpg for no reason whatsoever besides flaunting the fact they have a big fucking SUV.
I have to get up two hours early to do laundry?
There is a sense of bipolarity in the world, things gone good until wrong, things gone wrong until suddenly doing something very, very right. And that is why the best things get ignored and the worst things are gotten away with. It is a horrible, horrible thing.
I want to be tired tomorrow. I want to be so tired I cannot think a single word. I fear, otherwise, I will lapse into a comatose state of unresponsive depression.
I miss James. I love James. I miss him, so much words cannot begin to explain. It is hard to believe still, hard to believe the most lively person I know..knew? is now never going to stir a finger or collapse in my arms again...
My heart feels sick, as if it's come down with a bad case of flu.
A smirk, a laugh. I am glad we can still do that. It is harder than ever, however.
One of those nights. Words cannot properly express the racing, half-hysterical thoughts that flood my cerebrum and pound ceaselessly against my inner skull. They are a turmoil of colors, pictures and sounds, smells and tastes. A blur of beauty and of loathsomeness, of goals and dreams; lost, gained, and otherwise. A choking amount of memories and feelings, needs and wants.
What can I do? What is left? And, the eternal question:
Why?
But the mind stays busy, and does not dwell.
Tonight, tonight in discussion, tonight in misguidance...
I do not need spirituality simply because I am "intelligent" nor shall I be privy to a curfew seeing as how I can finally go about my business as an adult because my age seems to indicate that I am all grown up and can finally make decisions for myself. However, that is not the case, of course... why parents have to turn Nazi again overnight I do not know.
I curl up in Skyclad and Agalloch and H. P. Lovecraft, and begin a long night of sadness, nihilism, and sleeplessness.
Tomorrow only brings the smell of expensive coffees and work. Middle-aged women driving huge cars with nothing in them, getting 15mpg for no reason whatsoever besides flaunting the fact they have a big fucking SUV.
I have to get up two hours early to do laundry?
There is a sense of bipolarity in the world, things gone good until wrong, things gone wrong until suddenly doing something very, very right. And that is why the best things get ignored and the worst things are gotten away with. It is a horrible, horrible thing.
I want to be tired tomorrow. I want to be so tired I cannot think a single word. I fear, otherwise, I will lapse into a comatose state of unresponsive depression.
I miss James. I love James. I miss him, so much words cannot begin to explain. It is hard to believe still, hard to believe the most lively person I know..knew? is now never going to stir a finger or collapse in my arms again...
My heart feels sick, as if it's come down with a bad case of flu.
A smirk, a laugh. I am glad we can still do that. It is harder than ever, however.
One of those nights. Words cannot properly express the racing, half-hysterical thoughts that flood my cerebrum and pound ceaselessly against my inner skull. They are a turmoil of colors, pictures and sounds, smells and tastes. A blur of beauty and of loathsomeness, of goals and dreams; lost, gained, and otherwise. A choking amount of memories and feelings, needs and wants.
What can I do? What is left? And, the eternal question:
Why?