c. February 2009
Shaking with suppressed sobs, I can't cry here. I'll save it for the car where I can let everything out amidst a background of sound and lyrics about how she loves a stone, how she could whisper the wrong name and I wouldn't care (nor would my ears), how my stomach's always been a liar but I'll believe its lies again, how I don't mind her under my skin, how I just want something I can never have, how I want to sleep like a dog at her feet even though I know it won't work out in the long run, how this whole thing is probably a selfish infatuation anyway. I can't stop thinking about that night, the way she tasted like clove cigarettes and peppermint schnapps as she softly bit my lower lip, how warm she felt pressed up against me, how time seemed to stop with my eyes closed, how nervous I was when she was walking over, and how that completely evaporated the instant her mouth met mine - but oh, how this intellect burns, how these memories sting, how bitter they've become despite their initial sweetness. I want so badly for this to be untrue, but I fear that time meant nothing to her... yet even if it is true, I would gladly lie to myself if it ever happened again, tell myself she was finding something there as well, even if the events afterward went the same way. But then it would just hurt her again, and I don't know if I'd be able to put that aside. I would want to and not want to at the same time. I am so selfish. It kills me to know she could relate to the same songs I'm relating to...
...except it wouldn't be about me.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
You burn like a shot of Everclear
Until the intoxication sets in
And then I only want more and more
Until I'm laying in a broken heap on the floor
Wondering why I ever loved you in the first place
...but still begging you to lay next to me
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Art has become recontextualization.
Friday, January 28, 2011
Like a sombrero to the unconscious eye
11.10.2011
9.01.2011
#10
Found this on my computer tonight. It was written in late August of 2007 over the course of three days. Looking back, it makes me cringe to remember who I wrote all of this about. Any text in red was stolen verbatim from another source.
(on the cover of the notebook I wrote all of this in)
is this ego play?
and am i writing this
for an audience?
(the rest is from inside the notebook)
two autumns
and i have not
changed enough
-†-
I hate this
This depression I feel
Over something like this
I am so selfish I make myself sick
And yet I still can’t shake this desire to see them
Fall apart
And to be there to pick up the pieces
To hold her in my arms
And tell her everything will be okay
Because I love her
But if I love her, and care about him as well, how can I also want them to fall apart and suffer? How can I desire something that will cause them pain, no matter how much happiness I get out of it? Even if she is eventually happier because of it, how could I live with the depression it would throw him into? Am I really so selfish as to be okay with putting him in my place so that I might be in his, no matter how temporary it may (will!) be? And what of those we spend time with? Could I live/love with the strain it would put on them? So I feel as though I must suffer through this for the good of those close to me. Yet, how long can I deal with being lonely around those I care for most before I implode as though I am made of glass? How long must each kiss of theirs’ that I witness cut into my heartstrings before they are completely severed? How long can I feel sick to my stomach, like I have swallowed a handful of needles and broken glass, without the ability to vomit everything back out, all this blackness and despair and selfishness? How many more sleepless nights and crushing dreams must I endure before I am able to peacefully sleep?
“All this wishing I was dead is getting old!” I have yelled a thousand times, but no one seems to hear, so I am left wondering how long I will feel this depression, how long I will be stuck inside this screaming bullshit festival, how long I must look at her and know I cannot even hold her hand or kiss her cheek because of the terrible ramifications of my actions – and yet part of me (the selfish, reptilian part of me) is not concerned with the consequences, and I want so badly to give into that part just a little (and have already done so to some extent – O, what a terrible thing!) to see how she would respond, and G-d how I hate myself for all of this, for my selfishness and my hero complex and the way I feel how everything must have a meaning and how I try to make logical decisions about emotional issues, how I rationalize the irrational, how I use my mind to figure out the workings of my heart – what (un)blessed backwardness! – O, G-d, make me afraid of what I’ve become! I hope this will go away tomorrow, but from previous experience, I think this problem’s gonna last more than a weekend – and how I wish I could use my own words to describe how I feel, but I can’t think of right words to say to explain to someone (who?) all of this, so I must rely on the words of others in order to try and make sense of all this and to get my words out on paper in the hope that they will no longer be inside me but rather on these pages, forever trapped in this book so that they no longer bother me.
Sometimes I want to sleep forever.
-†-
I ask God for a sign
Even as I focus my gaze
On her
As she breaks my heart once again
I can’t help but think
That I live for this pain
And I wonder –
How much can I take
Before I stop breathing?
-†-
I know the road to everything
I know it goes right off a cliff
Nothing is forever
(and I at once take hope and fear in that)
-†-
I can be lonely if she’s happy after all
But how can I
When every time I see her in my mind
Her lips are touching his
And I feel as if those lips were ever to touch mine
I would find a poison
That not even she knows is there
Because it would only affect me
For she is my weakness
And O, how weak I am
-†-
I think about this altogether too often
Yet every passing thought
Seems to take me farther (further?) from an answer
-†-
Maybe she is more observant than I give her credit for, and the only reason she has responded to my attraction (if she has responded at all – unlikely!) is that she no longer feels any for him, and I am merely the blunt instrument she will use to sabotage their relationship, leaving me bruised and covered in blood in the process.
Or maybe that is wishful thinking.
-†-
I awoke this morning
And as I rubbed the last vestiges
Of sleep from my eyes
I realized what I had thought was sleep
Was merely a continued thought about her
-†-
God damns the ones who damn their brothers
-†-
And I continue to think myself in circles on this, never moving forward, dwelling on – obsessing over – things that have happened and will never happen, and I just wish I could get over her, could be okay with a simple friendship and nothing more, but this always fucking happens, and I could use a metaphor, but I just can’t get beyond this shit, and I would say that I could use someone to talk to, but I have people, have talked to those people, and it helps and yet it doesn’t, and even still most of my conversations with men seem to revolve around music.
-†-
(on the cover of the notebook I wrote all of this in)
is this ego play?
and am i writing this
for an audience?
(the rest is from inside the notebook)
two autumns
and i have not
changed enough
-†-
I hate this
This depression I feel
Over something like this
I am so selfish I make myself sick
And yet I still can’t shake this desire to see them
Fall apart
And to be there to pick up the pieces
To hold her in my arms
And tell her everything will be okay
Because I love her
But if I love her, and care about him as well, how can I also want them to fall apart and suffer? How can I desire something that will cause them pain, no matter how much happiness I get out of it? Even if she is eventually happier because of it, how could I live with the depression it would throw him into? Am I really so selfish as to be okay with putting him in my place so that I might be in his, no matter how temporary it may (will!) be? And what of those we spend time with? Could I live/love with the strain it would put on them? So I feel as though I must suffer through this for the good of those close to me. Yet, how long can I deal with being lonely around those I care for most before I implode as though I am made of glass? How long must each kiss of theirs’ that I witness cut into my heartstrings before they are completely severed? How long can I feel sick to my stomach, like I have swallowed a handful of needles and broken glass, without the ability to vomit everything back out, all this blackness and despair and selfishness? How many more sleepless nights and crushing dreams must I endure before I am able to peacefully sleep?
“All this wishing I was dead is getting old!” I have yelled a thousand times, but no one seems to hear, so I am left wondering how long I will feel this depression, how long I will be stuck inside this screaming bullshit festival, how long I must look at her and know I cannot even hold her hand or kiss her cheek because of the terrible ramifications of my actions – and yet part of me (the selfish, reptilian part of me) is not concerned with the consequences, and I want so badly to give into that part just a little (and have already done so to some extent – O, what a terrible thing!) to see how she would respond, and G-d how I hate myself for all of this, for my selfishness and my hero complex and the way I feel how everything must have a meaning and how I try to make logical decisions about emotional issues, how I rationalize the irrational, how I use my mind to figure out the workings of my heart – what (un)blessed backwardness! – O, G-d, make me afraid of what I’ve become! I hope this will go away tomorrow, but from previous experience, I think this problem’s gonna last more than a weekend – and how I wish I could use my own words to describe how I feel, but I can’t think of right words to say to explain to someone (who?) all of this, so I must rely on the words of others in order to try and make sense of all this and to get my words out on paper in the hope that they will no longer be inside me but rather on these pages, forever trapped in this book so that they no longer bother me.
Sometimes I want to sleep forever.
-†-
I ask God for a sign
Even as I focus my gaze
On her
As she breaks my heart once again
I can’t help but think
That I live for this pain
And I wonder –
How much can I take
Before I stop breathing?
-†-
I know the road to everything
I know it goes right off a cliff
Nothing is forever
(and I at once take hope and fear in that)
-†-
I can be lonely if she’s happy after all
But how can I
When every time I see her in my mind
Her lips are touching his
And I feel as if those lips were ever to touch mine
I would find a poison
That not even she knows is there
Because it would only affect me
For she is my weakness
And O, how weak I am
-†-
I think about this altogether too often
Yet every passing thought
Seems to take me farther (further?) from an answer
-†-
Maybe she is more observant than I give her credit for, and the only reason she has responded to my attraction (if she has responded at all – unlikely!) is that she no longer feels any for him, and I am merely the blunt instrument she will use to sabotage their relationship, leaving me bruised and covered in blood in the process.
Or maybe that is wishful thinking.
-†-
I awoke this morning
And as I rubbed the last vestiges
Of sleep from my eyes
I realized what I had thought was sleep
Was merely a continued thought about her
-†-
God damns the ones who damn their brothers
-†-
And I continue to think myself in circles on this, never moving forward, dwelling on – obsessing over – things that have happened and will never happen, and I just wish I could get over her, could be okay with a simple friendship and nothing more, but this always fucking happens, and I could use a metaphor, but I just can’t get beyond this shit, and I would say that I could use someone to talk to, but I have people, have talked to those people, and it helps and yet it doesn’t, and even still most of my conversations with men seem to revolve around music.
-†-
3.30.2011
#9
Thursday, March 31, 2011
My dad is there for me now more than when I was growing up.
My generation had no revolution.
My dad was jealous of the people I saw as father figures.
My dad is there for me now more than when I was growing up.
My generation had no revolution.
My dad was jealous of the people I saw as father figures.
2.22.2011
#8
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
I wonder if I've ever had a single original thought, a thought that no one else has ever had before. I wonder if I can do anything that no one else has done before - and if so, will it be expanded upon, improved, made better, stronger, brighter, more insightful, more important, more universal, more truthful by someone else?
But then, what if those things are true? What if everything I think and say and do has-been/will-be-thought and said and done by others? Shouldn't that make me feel close to humanity at large in some way? Shouldn't that reinforce my belief in the collective subconscious/superconscious that I sometimes believe exists? And yet it doesn't. It depresses me to think that I am totally unoriginal. It makes any creative action I want to take seem futile. Even now, writing this, I'm stealing ideas from Joe Frank and Stephen Chbosky and probably unknowingly stealing from countless other people, whether that's because I'm not familiar with their works yet or because I've forgotten that I am familiar with their works.
Does any of this make any fucking sense?
I think I want to resent people who care about me because sometimes I feel like their love keeps me tethered to life when I'm sick of living. Then again, maybe I'm just projecting my self-hatred on everyone else. I always say that the knowledge that I have friends and family who would be saddened by my death is what keeps me from killing myself, and I honestly believe that's true... but what happens when keeping up those relationships starts to feel more and more like a chore, like something I'm obligated to do? It's not anyone in particular, either. It's the idea of keeping up relationships in the first place. I lied. There is one person who brings that feeling up in me more than others, but I also feel like I'm purposely sabotaging that relationship for some reason. Maybe because that relationship forces self-examination in ways that I'm not comfortable with, ways that break me out of my usual thought ruts and force me to look at myself in a new and honest way that usually ends up with me realizing flaws about my character that I hate in other people. I don't fucking know what I'm talking about anymore. Fuck yeah, amplified self-pity (more stolen ideas).
I need to get the fuck out of my own head before I start questioning existence itself and really freak myself out.
I wonder if I've ever had a single original thought, a thought that no one else has ever had before. I wonder if I can do anything that no one else has done before - and if so, will it be expanded upon, improved, made better, stronger, brighter, more insightful, more important, more universal, more truthful by someone else?
But then, what if those things are true? What if everything I think and say and do has-been/will-be-thought and said and done by others? Shouldn't that make me feel close to humanity at large in some way? Shouldn't that reinforce my belief in the collective subconscious/superconscious that I sometimes believe exists? And yet it doesn't. It depresses me to think that I am totally unoriginal. It makes any creative action I want to take seem futile. Even now, writing this, I'm stealing ideas from Joe Frank and Stephen Chbosky and probably unknowingly stealing from countless other people, whether that's because I'm not familiar with their works yet or because I've forgotten that I am familiar with their works.
Does any of this make any fucking sense?
I think I want to resent people who care about me because sometimes I feel like their love keeps me tethered to life when I'm sick of living. Then again, maybe I'm just projecting my self-hatred on everyone else. I always say that the knowledge that I have friends and family who would be saddened by my death is what keeps me from killing myself, and I honestly believe that's true... but what happens when keeping up those relationships starts to feel more and more like a chore, like something I'm obligated to do? It's not anyone in particular, either. It's the idea of keeping up relationships in the first place. I lied. There is one person who brings that feeling up in me more than others, but I also feel like I'm purposely sabotaging that relationship for some reason. Maybe because that relationship forces self-examination in ways that I'm not comfortable with, ways that break me out of my usual thought ruts and force me to look at myself in a new and honest way that usually ends up with me realizing flaws about my character that I hate in other people. I don't fucking know what I'm talking about anymore. Fuck yeah, amplified self-pity (more stolen ideas).
I need to get the fuck out of my own head before I start questioning existence itself and really freak myself out.
1.14.2011
#7
Friday, January 14, 2011
Does the act of attributing names to our feelings and thought processes help or hinder us? Does the fact that I know I can be nihilistic, misanthropic, narcissistic to some degree, and generally self-loathing free me or does it just allow me to hide from what I'm really feeling behind big words I'm not sure I fully understand?
I don't need a significant other. I just need someone I can die alone with.
Does the act of attributing names to our feelings and thought processes help or hinder us? Does the fact that I know I can be nihilistic, misanthropic, narcissistic to some degree, and generally self-loathing free me or does it just allow me to hide from what I'm really feeling behind big words I'm not sure I fully understand?
I don't need a significant other. I just need someone I can die alone with.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)