Listening: Sarah Slean "When another Midnight"
Wearing: Jeans
Drinking: Last nights old red wine
Reading: Seduction of the Minotaur, Anais Nin.
Thinking: "Some voyages have their inception in the blueprint of a dream, some in the urgency of contradicting a dream" - Anais Nin
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRG. I'm frustrated and angry and just wish I could break something or ruin something. Do you ever get that purely sabotagal feeling? To hurt something or wreck or just take the pins and piss and love out of something and just ruin... Thats where I am. I am so tired of putting everything I have, everything I am, into these wretched, self sabotaging, ruinful, vain, selfish, ungrateful WRETCHES of people. I'm sick of actually being afraid of disappointing people that I wouldn't piss on if they were on fire in the desert for a million years.
Sadness is as de riguer as black right now, this epidemic of children who think that everyday melancholy, that which should be the prerequisite for success in adult life - fucking REFLECTION, should get them medicated and placated and stroked and loved. They drink like fucking rock stars, fuck each other nonstop until they're so embarrassed that they're calling it something else, they swan around here rich and pathetic and SAD with the sick and demented personalities that they've constructed out of beer bottles and slutty clothing and telling themselves that THEY, they are privileged, that they have a point of view that I should listen to. Or worse, they dress like they're poor and artistic and ORIGINAL, this sickening culture of originality that you too can purchase for an incredible sum - that is they're tragedy. That is what they should be sad about - the complete and utter lack of ability for contemplation and choice (the choice that isn't between the GAP and Club ).
My god, is THAT what I am sad about? That I don't fit into that? That it seems easier to black out and laugh at Facebook pictures and wear what everyone else is wearing as opposed to this never ending fight that goes on in my mind, this.. this THINKING? This constant ridiculous choosing of the other, of myself, of determination FOR myself? Could it just be so easy as picking up my identity at Urban Outfitters, filling my shelves with Oprah's book club and getting my mental help from Doctor Phil? Is that what I'm missing? Is the opiate of the masses really so close at my fingertips?
Or could that be the all of this, this is what ruins me, what makes me sick to my stomach, that which makes me cry on the stairmaster, that compels me, literally pushes me, to have a few too many drinks now and again and again? That this, that THAT, the book club and the ease and the simplicity - that that is somebodies reality? That that may be what I crave as mine?
Am I simply looking to tear apart myself? Is that the destruction that I actually want? Is that easier? Or would I have to choke back something worse than Boones?
Sadness is as de riguer as black right now, this epidemic of children who think that everyday melancholy, that which should be the prerequisite for success in adult life - fucking REFLECTION, should get them medicated and placated and stroked and loved. They drink like fucking rock stars, fuck each other nonstop until they're so embarrassed that they're calling it something else, they swan around here rich and pathetic and SAD with the sick and demented personalities that they've constructed out of beer bottles and slutty clothing and telling themselves that THEY, they are privileged, that they have a point of view that I should listen to. Or worse, they dress like they're poor and artistic and ORIGINAL, this sickening culture of originality that you too can purchase for an incredible sum - that is they're tragedy. That is what they should be sad about - the complete and utter lack of ability for contemplation and choice (the choice that isn't between the GAP and Club ).
My god, is THAT what I am sad about? That I don't fit into that? That it seems easier to black out and laugh at Facebook pictures and wear what everyone else is wearing as opposed to this never ending fight that goes on in my mind, this.. this THINKING? This constant ridiculous choosing of the other, of myself, of determination FOR myself? Could it just be so easy as picking up my identity at Urban Outfitters, filling my shelves with Oprah's book club and getting my mental help from Doctor Phil? Is that what I'm missing? Is the opiate of the masses really so close at my fingertips?
Or could that be the all of this, this is what ruins me, what makes me sick to my stomach, that which makes me cry on the stairmaster, that compels me, literally pushes me, to have a few too many drinks now and again and again? That this, that THAT, the book club and the ease and the simplicity - that that is somebodies reality? That that may be what I crave as mine?
Am I simply looking to tear apart myself? Is that the destruction that I actually want? Is that easier? Or would I have to choke back something worse than Boones?
2 comments:
Huh.
I feel like that sometimes.
L says:
Jacob TooToo is Canadian!
Oh; and how can the EO lose to Nashville (!), for God's sake?
WTF??
'There are only two kinds of freedom in the world; the freedom of the rich and powerful, and the freedom of the artist and the monk who renounces possessions...'
Anais Nin
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