self-infusion for "the noiseoholics, the quietophobics"
i'm tired of having to run to art. to music. to film. to the delicately arranged words of perfectionists or the ones of inadvertent and extraordinary beauty. to distractions.
i have let most everything become routine and meaningless, only to find myself shooting up cathartic mediums i have become dependent upon. there are other ways. it's sad to think that this is what i've resorted to, when this world that would have you believe it is nothing but normal and deserving of the routine is so far from it.
i'm tired of running. tired of this chase. this pursuit. i want to stop moving, and i want everything to stop with me. i want to breathe in the kind of gratitude you only feel when you find something you've lost, or thought you did. i want to feel every second of time, every cool breeze, every ray of light, and every movement taken for granted. i want to live in slow-motion that drips with nothing but immaculate emotion. with love. irrational, untainted, and unconditonal.
sadness or happiness, whatever it is, i'll take it. it's better than apathy. farewell to the professional escapist.