Last Rites every Friday night, am I weaker with the lights on?
You would think that, with all of the disarray and emotions flying around these days, I would be internally bombarded with the desire to write on a daily basis. But what was it that pushed me to it this time? The exciting fact that only about a week lies between me and the New Year. Meaning a new link to appear in the annual archive. It's way more exciting than it should be, and I will probably write about it every December/January until Livejournal goes the way of the Xanga.
Trying to debrief this year in writing is just not worth the conceptual ink. It would be easy and predictable to say it was terrible, or to drown in self-pity. It was also be easy, surprisingly, to feign optimism and bright eyes, with tidbits about everything happening for a reason and there being a greater plan than I realize. But there is a conspicuous lack of extremes in this retrospection. I am seeing with new clarity, and proceeding with new caution. All of course while driving myself insane with the nonsense that continues to take up residence in my spinning head. There really is no easy way out.
How do I tie up loose ends that follow me everywhere? How do I begin to weave them into something that could withstand whatever is to come? How does one "bounce back"? This numbness will eventually thaw, I think. Hopefully into something good.
I suppose ending this year on someone else's words may seem sacrilegious (I just looked up to confirm spelling of this word and was shocked to see that I was initially wrong. English really is just plain rude sometimes.), but mine have abandoned or failed me for the majority of the last several months, so it seems unfortunately fitting. Until the 2012 hyperlink graces my archive page...
It’s been a good year, a good new beginning.
I’m through with the old school so let’s commence the winning.
I’ve been a good little worker bee.
I deserve a gold star.
Gone are the glad hands, the black holes and liars,
the constant companions, obnoxious suppliers.
Carnivore kings milking holiday sins,
comas and cashmere.
It went from no good to fucked up and over.
a total distortion of lifelong disorders,
barreling headfirst through fresh open wounds.
This, I was not used to.
Now that my words don't quite do what they should,
now that old wounds are resurfacing too,
it makes me feel golden.
It makes me feel good
It's been a good year, a good new beginning.
I'm through with the old school so let's commence the winning
I've been a good little worker bee.
I deserve a gold star.
A gold star.
I deserve a gold star today.
Trying to debrief this year in writing is just not worth the conceptual ink. It would be easy and predictable to say it was terrible, or to drown in self-pity. It was also be easy, surprisingly, to feign optimism and bright eyes, with tidbits about everything happening for a reason and there being a greater plan than I realize. But there is a conspicuous lack of extremes in this retrospection. I am seeing with new clarity, and proceeding with new caution. All of course while driving myself insane with the nonsense that continues to take up residence in my spinning head. There really is no easy way out.
How do I tie up loose ends that follow me everywhere? How do I begin to weave them into something that could withstand whatever is to come? How does one "bounce back"? This numbness will eventually thaw, I think. Hopefully into something good.
I suppose ending this year on someone else's words may seem sacrilegious (I just looked up to confirm spelling of this word and was shocked to see that I was initially wrong. English really is just plain rude sometimes.), but mine have abandoned or failed me for the majority of the last several months, so it seems unfortunately fitting. Until the 2012 hyperlink graces my archive page...
It’s been a good year, a good new beginning.
I’m through with the old school so let’s commence the winning.
I’ve been a good little worker bee.
I deserve a gold star.
Gone are the glad hands, the black holes and liars,
the constant companions, obnoxious suppliers.
Carnivore kings milking holiday sins,
comas and cashmere.
It went from no good to fucked up and over.
a total distortion of lifelong disorders,
barreling headfirst through fresh open wounds.
This, I was not used to.
Now that my words don't quite do what they should,
now that old wounds are resurfacing too,
it makes me feel golden.
It makes me feel good
It's been a good year, a good new beginning.
I'm through with the old school so let's commence the winning
I've been a good little worker bee.
I deserve a gold star.
A gold star.
I deserve a gold star today.