Now that the holiday season is over and the suicide rate is steadily declining; I feel like surviving another holiday season and then almost spontaneously a bad relationship has made me a little stronger about my gilded life. But I have a friend who is ten months into a post break-up heartache and it's sad and piteous to watch. No one wants to pity their friends because we all want strength. Stability is an incredulous virtue we pursue. Sometimes we step over integrity to attain this quasi valuable state. What of it, though? If we are comfortable and strong then what does it matter?
Ignorance. Apathy. Rancor.
Sometimes the good guys get left for dead. To be devoured. I assume it's because good guys don't play the stability game. Not to say all good does not, but a good divot of them don't. It's an unfortunate chance that a lot of them don't have all the answers to life. It's what happens to a lot of those who don't bullshit themselves.
With the friend matter, I start to think that the root problem isn't his longing of her as much as it is being alone. God knows if I could handle being alone for a long time I would assume that position for just that amount of time. People want what they can't have. If someone is alone they want to be together; if two are together then they enjoy their lone time.
One last interesting thing I realized this morning. Those pompous French - the ones who are pompous and say this - complain that all Americans are ignorant and and ethnocentric. But isn't that what the French do when they complain about Americans? God damn ethnocentrism.
The Emo Emu
I don't know... the last month or so hasn't been very fruitful. There's been nothing to write about except sorrowful things and I wouldn't mean to bore anyone with them. It's really just hard to cope with lethargy and change if you know what I mean by that. Nothing seems to work for me which is probably because I don't work for it. But the cycle just tailspins evermore. If there were anyone to talk to it'd probably be better but as contrived as it sounds: nobody understands me. Hell, I don't understand me. The shit I pull and the shit people put up with is amazingly bull-headed. I've lost all my old friends because of it with none interested in taking their spots. It makes sense though, because I've dragged some of them through cold grounds enough that people would be forewarned.
My life is flux. When things go right they are very right and I get into a comfortable area with my life and my guard goes down. Then, as soon as it goes down, misfortune attacks. So I'm left stranded with a series of unfortunate events that only do so much as beat the dead mule that is I or my misery; whichever the metaphor alludes.
Now, as I'm going through all this I'm finding it all to be depressing drivel. I don't like talking about the bad times, and I don't like being in the bad times. Really, I'm not a "bad times" kind of person. It's just the way things worked out by internal and external stimuli. Things will get better as they always do, and I realize that I have no way of making them better, which sucks. I could try, but the mood is the mood like the tide is the tide; I cannot change either.
My life is flux. When things go right they are very right and I get into a comfortable area with my life and my guard goes down. Then, as soon as it goes down, misfortune attacks. So I'm left stranded with a series of unfortunate events that only do so much as beat the dead mule that is I or my misery; whichever the metaphor alludes.
Now, as I'm going through all this I'm finding it all to be depressing drivel. I don't like talking about the bad times, and I don't like being in the bad times. Really, I'm not a "bad times" kind of person. It's just the way things worked out by internal and external stimuli. Things will get better as they always do, and I realize that I have no way of making them better, which sucks. I could try, but the mood is the mood like the tide is the tide; I cannot change either.
A Celestial Manifesto
It has been awfully trite around this town lately. I think, perhaps, it's rubbed off on me too. Sometimes the slickest of personalities can become adhesive to the quality of air. In this small suburban town of strip-malls and revelry, it's nice to be quaint. Also, I do enjoy revelry, which presents a problem. Being slick, I am fond of small talk and minimalist networking and not colorful mosaics. Perhaps it has done wrong to my ephemeral moods, but I suppose my nature is second to my disposition of how to exist. I believe I do that quite well, with subsequent pitfalls as everyone is to encounter.
Tonight, there was something in the air. Some sophomore slump that ran erred around dusk. One two years older than I wake up to every morning. One that substantiated the dilute of ideas that permeate this new air. I stood outside in a haze, looking up at the stars. The same way I did in my old air. I thought about open fields, friendships, girlfriends; how they equate to the designs that astronomers point out when we were much further away from them. It was, then, all about mythology. Beautiful tales of warriors and evil; stories of wonderment we'd never had thought about. Tonight my hand was much closer to those creatures, and I have come to think less of them. They fashion themselves as less of a mosaic in my eyes. They seem to be merely beams of light years older than themselves. But still they retain their beauty whether or not they have a tale to tell me, or a plot to follow. They still illuminate the sky just as stately.
When I think that life is passing, I come to realize that it can never pass. As fond of it as I am, it sounds absurd to become stagnant to one's life. I believe I'm living just as the next person is. I breathe with my lungs and think with my mind, and I never doubt that I live more or less than the next person. Sometimes, however, it takes a moment of clarity to draw this conclusion from the depths of rationalism. I believe I need these moreso than most as I am constantly questioning myself, or somewhat doubtful. But when the air smells as sweet - when the serotonin courses perfectly - the pieces of life that seem so smattered are truly smattered, but they lay just as beautifully as if they depicted something. If we are always looking for a greater pattern to life, then maybe we are missing the real sweetness of it.
I could be sounding trite, though, since I am not perfectly smooth. I could be sounding somewhat incoherent. I think it's because I'm trying to type this before I forget. The truth in this is only subjective and there's no way I'm expecting you to retain this as fact or my interpretation of fact. I'm only a dreamer, a weekend artist, a thinker; or perhaps just a Petrarchan of sorts. Whatever the excuse, the stars are full and bright tonight. Yet, I doubt they shine as brightly if you take them for granted.
[Edited by Taylor Noe]
Tonight, there was something in the air. Some sophomore slump that ran erred around dusk. One two years older than I wake up to every morning. One that substantiated the dilute of ideas that permeate this new air. I stood outside in a haze, looking up at the stars. The same way I did in my old air. I thought about open fields, friendships, girlfriends; how they equate to the designs that astronomers point out when we were much further away from them. It was, then, all about mythology. Beautiful tales of warriors and evil; stories of wonderment we'd never had thought about. Tonight my hand was much closer to those creatures, and I have come to think less of them. They fashion themselves as less of a mosaic in my eyes. They seem to be merely beams of light years older than themselves. But still they retain their beauty whether or not they have a tale to tell me, or a plot to follow. They still illuminate the sky just as stately.
When I think that life is passing, I come to realize that it can never pass. As fond of it as I am, it sounds absurd to become stagnant to one's life. I believe I'm living just as the next person is. I breathe with my lungs and think with my mind, and I never doubt that I live more or less than the next person. Sometimes, however, it takes a moment of clarity to draw this conclusion from the depths of rationalism. I believe I need these moreso than most as I am constantly questioning myself, or somewhat doubtful. But when the air smells as sweet - when the serotonin courses perfectly - the pieces of life that seem so smattered are truly smattered, but they lay just as beautifully as if they depicted something. If we are always looking for a greater pattern to life, then maybe we are missing the real sweetness of it.
I could be sounding trite, though, since I am not perfectly smooth. I could be sounding somewhat incoherent. I think it's because I'm trying to type this before I forget. The truth in this is only subjective and there's no way I'm expecting you to retain this as fact or my interpretation of fact. I'm only a dreamer, a weekend artist, a thinker; or perhaps just a Petrarchan of sorts. Whatever the excuse, the stars are full and bright tonight. Yet, I doubt they shine as brightly if you take them for granted.
[Edited by Taylor Noe]
That Willow Tree, There
I'm not truly certain that people have experienced love in the unconventional sense that poets or writers have eluded me of. With every movie I watch, I feel more contracted to that whim of the emotional spectrum than I am. In actuality, love is so flimsy that not many people would be so deeply invested in each other. At best, the regularity and quality of sex can keep an unspoken bond for ages. It's a tendency to shrug the aggrandized notions of romantics that keep kids longing for. The best way to combat it is by sleeping around and hopefully finding someone that does provide that quality and that regularity that will leave one lingering hopefully long enough to catch something they missed before.
The ordinarily prudent person doesn't fall so quickly for some hooks thrown around by a swiftly beating heart. It could never be sanely explained and therefore isn't worth the breath, but more or less detrimental to it. Pretty girls never seem to last, and as much as they love that Disney idea of love, they're not, nobody is, ready for something ripped from a sonnet.
The ordinarily prudent person doesn't fall so quickly for some hooks thrown around by a swiftly beating heart. It could never be sanely explained and therefore isn't worth the breath, but more or less detrimental to it. Pretty girls never seem to last, and as much as they love that Disney idea of love, they're not, nobody is, ready for something ripped from a sonnet.
The Battle of Love
I believe it was the superbly perverted Sue Johanson that said "Manual masturbation of the prostate can be a fun alternative." This was probably in relevance to some anal sex toy she was pimping on her show; she makes a goddamn fortune off them. But that's not the point I want to make. The point I want to make, using this awkward phrase, is that in the battle of love one will inevitably get their prostate masturbated... metaphorically... by lust.
Lust is a lot like prostatic masturbation: it is an enjoyable, albeit uncomfortable act that afterward leaves one stating how it felt "kind of awkward." You may be thinking I'm pushing some pro-monogamous agenda, and you could say I'm sort of a lobbyist for it. The important message I'm trying to send, weighted with a lack of eloquence, is that if you're a fan of sleeping around, you're probably also a fun of sticking a couple fingers in your ass. Think about that the next time you try to slip some half-absent girl some latent pick-up line.
Lust is a lot like prostatic masturbation: it is an enjoyable, albeit uncomfortable act that afterward leaves one stating how it felt "kind of awkward." You may be thinking I'm pushing some pro-monogamous agenda, and you could say I'm sort of a lobbyist for it. The important message I'm trying to send, weighted with a lack of eloquence, is that if you're a fan of sleeping around, you're probably also a fun of sticking a couple fingers in your ass. Think about that the next time you try to slip some half-absent girl some latent pick-up line.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
