places you'll see, persons you'll be
Discovery.
I'm fairly observant. I'd say so. It's the advantage of being quiet. They'll let you in. But you're always on the outside, looking from beyond. Sometimes you'll see things, they won't. The ability to know more than others. It's quite valuable. Especially when what you know, is belonging to them.
Be rare and they'll desire you. Or at least I thought. Nowadays it feels like: be rare and be forgotten. Believe me, when you realize how much you've disappeared it's never comforting to learn. Value. Worth. It can be gained. It can be earned. Start from nothing, you can have something. Desire value. It'll be worth it.
Where am I? How often is that a question to me? How often is it answered?
Can I believe?
There's so much I want. Amassing in my head how much I want is always a difficult thing to withstand. You realize how much of it you'll never get. Faith. I've none. Much of myself has been reduced to piggybacking. I don't know how to stop. I'm not secure with myself. I'm not sure. If I had a conversation with me, it would be a train wreck - like many other things I've had to endure. Where?
Love. I've had it, perhaps. I wish I could have it. I'm not sure how. I used to have ideas of how to be romantic, and the ideals of how beautiful it can be. I didn't realize I stopped believing until I realized how much I still want to believe. So badly I just want to remember. I want to find. It's far too embarrassing. I want to break up. I want to be dumped. I want so badly. I've no answers for this. No amount of observing can help me. This is something I need to do. If I need to move across the world, I will. I want, but I won't. It won't find me.
Why am I? What will I do? The scariest thing about being lost, is losing the feeling of fear. Eventually I'm afraid of my fearlessness. So easily succumb to it. I wish I were charismatic. I wish I wasn't 100% mentally here. Maybe I'm not. I wish I wasn't pathetic. For sure I am. How will I live? Where will I live? I've not made money. It would be nice to earn money. I wish I could lose it all, so I could learn how to earn it all back.
I could write it. All of it. How else would I? That's all anyone wants from me anyway. They want what I have to say, not what I have to offer. It's not unusual. I'd love it if you would. My theory, my prophecy, my lunacy. It's of value to some. But that's all I can provide. I'm born to be this messenger who will be long forgotten. But a quote left to my name; I'll be faceless. Buried, and then eventually literally faceless.
We are so cruel. I want to love everything.
Can I enjoy? Yes. I can. Quite well in fact. Otherwise, why else would I be so contempt. Guilty. It's how I feel all the time. I'm surrounded with what I've come to find exciting, and yet the things I invest most in are those that will never invest back in to me. Maybe I'll just go. Somewhere excitable. Somewhere, and I'll be forced to do something or spiral into boredom's insanity. Some place not known. But a place that will be home to my own freedom. A hotel room for me to populate.
Breakfasts are my favorite meals. Inappropriate times for breakfast are the most exciting.
I'd like to leave. But I've been bred into such a structure that makes it far from possible. I want to be somewhere. I want to find it. I'm older, every second. I've not moved. I've been stuck. New home, same place. I have things. Things I love. Things I can do without. That's not love. That's fucked up. I should leave. And yet, if I do, I'll be here again. Just as lost as before. Unable to deal with myself. I'd be me, but a much poorer version.
Monologues. Soliloquies. Thoughts. Bollocks.
I feel like my mind is jazz. I can't quite get a hold of it. It's unattainable. It gets messy, and loud. It's unrestricted. But sometimes it's pop. It's easy. It makes sense. It's basic. This is stupid. Mind is not music. Analogies are stupid. Anal logic.
Why did I message you? You don't mean much to me. But you're the only one who's actually shown any remote concern. And I kind of need you. But I'm fairly observant, and you won't need me. I was alone, surrounded by people. So I just drank. I'd do anything to be able to speak to people - coherently.
I made a tumblr account, because I started thinking about how much easier it was. But I just came back here. Because I was afraid to give this up. All of this. I'm a coward. I need to leave. I'd like to leave. But I never will. And this has nothing to do with accounts. This is ridiculous.
Photographs of myself are so rare, I feel like I may just disappear off the face of the printed world.
Insanity. I want to be here. Because at least I'll be brilliant. Right now I'm a cookie cutter. Bound and restricted. The key to breaking the mould is to be incomprehensible. Especially when reading your own writing. Sentence fragment. These help. Improper punctuation. Overuse of commas. Coherence and all that jazz. I'm sure someone thinks I'm insane. Thanks.
Defining times. Who are we kidding? It's all defining. You know it is. Every letter, word and sentence fragment. Puzzles. Pieces. Glued to our faces as we nap on our desks. Birthday cards. Reminders.
Alarm clocks wake us up. Oh, if only they could. By the way, I need an alarm clock. Phones are so unreliable. I have braces. I'm officially a geek for life. Smiling has never been harder. Don't hate me.
I'm really easily influenced and affected. I don't want you to dislike me. Nothing pains me more than being unaccepted or thrown away. I'm incredibly reliant on how people see me. Don't take me seriously. I'm a very serious person.
Disease. Being ugly. Sympathy for the people we don't understand. Pity for the unloved. We're helping no one. Thump.
God, it's easy to sound smart.
Fuck.
Letters to those. The ones I admire. Postcards and souvenirs.
And when I'm really nervous, I dance. Because dancing is far easier than coming up with an explanation, or a statement, or an opinion, or a question, or an idea, or a method. I love club scenes in movies and shows. I love seeing people dance. Have you ever seen that dance scene in Boy A? My inspiration. Thanks Andrew Garfield.
The point of no return. I might break LiveJournal. But who would really notice?
None of it. It's worthless. All of it.
I'm fairly observant. I'd say so. It's the advantage of being quiet. They'll let you in. But you're always on the outside, looking from beyond. Sometimes you'll see things, they won't. The ability to know more than others. It's quite valuable. Especially when what you know, is belonging to them.
Be rare and they'll desire you. Or at least I thought. Nowadays it feels like: be rare and be forgotten. Believe me, when you realize how much you've disappeared it's never comforting to learn. Value. Worth. It can be gained. It can be earned. Start from nothing, you can have something. Desire value. It'll be worth it.
Where am I? How often is that a question to me? How often is it answered?
Can I believe?
There's so much I want. Amassing in my head how much I want is always a difficult thing to withstand. You realize how much of it you'll never get. Faith. I've none. Much of myself has been reduced to piggybacking. I don't know how to stop. I'm not secure with myself. I'm not sure. If I had a conversation with me, it would be a train wreck - like many other things I've had to endure. Where?
Love. I've had it, perhaps. I wish I could have it. I'm not sure how. I used to have ideas of how to be romantic, and the ideals of how beautiful it can be. I didn't realize I stopped believing until I realized how much I still want to believe. So badly I just want to remember. I want to find. It's far too embarrassing. I want to break up. I want to be dumped. I want so badly. I've no answers for this. No amount of observing can help me. This is something I need to do. If I need to move across the world, I will. I want, but I won't. It won't find me.
Why am I? What will I do? The scariest thing about being lost, is losing the feeling of fear. Eventually I'm afraid of my fearlessness. So easily succumb to it. I wish I were charismatic. I wish I wasn't 100% mentally here. Maybe I'm not. I wish I wasn't pathetic. For sure I am. How will I live? Where will I live? I've not made money. It would be nice to earn money. I wish I could lose it all, so I could learn how to earn it all back.
I could write it. All of it. How else would I? That's all anyone wants from me anyway. They want what I have to say, not what I have to offer. It's not unusual. I'd love it if you would. My theory, my prophecy, my lunacy. It's of value to some. But that's all I can provide. I'm born to be this messenger who will be long forgotten. But a quote left to my name; I'll be faceless. Buried, and then eventually literally faceless.
We are so cruel. I want to love everything.
Can I enjoy? Yes. I can. Quite well in fact. Otherwise, why else would I be so contempt. Guilty. It's how I feel all the time. I'm surrounded with what I've come to find exciting, and yet the things I invest most in are those that will never invest back in to me. Maybe I'll just go. Somewhere excitable. Somewhere, and I'll be forced to do something or spiral into boredom's insanity. Some place not known. But a place that will be home to my own freedom. A hotel room for me to populate.
Breakfasts are my favorite meals. Inappropriate times for breakfast are the most exciting.
I'd like to leave. But I've been bred into such a structure that makes it far from possible. I want to be somewhere. I want to find it. I'm older, every second. I've not moved. I've been stuck. New home, same place. I have things. Things I love. Things I can do without. That's not love. That's fucked up. I should leave. And yet, if I do, I'll be here again. Just as lost as before. Unable to deal with myself. I'd be me, but a much poorer version.
Monologues. Soliloquies. Thoughts. Bollocks.
I feel like my mind is jazz. I can't quite get a hold of it. It's unattainable. It gets messy, and loud. It's unrestricted. But sometimes it's pop. It's easy. It makes sense. It's basic. This is stupid. Mind is not music. Analogies are stupid. Anal logic.
Why did I message you? You don't mean much to me. But you're the only one who's actually shown any remote concern. And I kind of need you. But I'm fairly observant, and you won't need me. I was alone, surrounded by people. So I just drank. I'd do anything to be able to speak to people - coherently.
I made a tumblr account, because I started thinking about how much easier it was. But I just came back here. Because I was afraid to give this up. All of this. I'm a coward. I need to leave. I'd like to leave. But I never will. And this has nothing to do with accounts. This is ridiculous.
Photographs of myself are so rare, I feel like I may just disappear off the face of the printed world.
Insanity. I want to be here. Because at least I'll be brilliant. Right now I'm a cookie cutter. Bound and restricted. The key to breaking the mould is to be incomprehensible. Especially when reading your own writing. Sentence fragment. These help. Improper punctuation. Overuse of commas. Coherence and all that jazz. I'm sure someone thinks I'm insane. Thanks.
Defining times. Who are we kidding? It's all defining. You know it is. Every letter, word and sentence fragment. Puzzles. Pieces. Glued to our faces as we nap on our desks. Birthday cards. Reminders.
Alarm clocks wake us up. Oh, if only they could. By the way, I need an alarm clock. Phones are so unreliable. I have braces. I'm officially a geek for life. Smiling has never been harder. Don't hate me.
I'm really easily influenced and affected. I don't want you to dislike me. Nothing pains me more than being unaccepted or thrown away. I'm incredibly reliant on how people see me. Don't take me seriously. I'm a very serious person.
Disease. Being ugly. Sympathy for the people we don't understand. Pity for the unloved. We're helping no one. Thump.
God, it's easy to sound smart.
Fuck.
Letters to those. The ones I admire. Postcards and souvenirs.
And when I'm really nervous, I dance. Because dancing is far easier than coming up with an explanation, or a statement, or an opinion, or a question, or an idea, or a method. I love club scenes in movies and shows. I love seeing people dance. Have you ever seen that dance scene in Boy A? My inspiration. Thanks Andrew Garfield.
The point of no return. I might break LiveJournal. But who would really notice?
None of it. It's worthless. All of it.