You're stuck in a chauvinistic, racist, homophobic state of mind and you don't even realize it. Or, rather, you do - you just don't care. To you it's all a joke. Rape, domestic violence, discrimination based on race, sexual orientation, and gender - it's all just a joke.
You go give God your time of day, wearing your Sunday best, but your very being is drenched with the stench of your hypocrisy; you disgust me. You physically revolt me. I get to thinking about the spiral that your mind is in, how indifferent you are to the culture you're a part of, the implications of your beliefs and your acceptances, and it churns my stomach and makes me sick.
And then you have the audacity to point your finger at me. You criticize and laugh at me for breaking away, you taunt and tease me for being offended and infuriated by your off hand remarks and "jokes." Fuck, are you kidding me? Thank whatever higher being there is that I am nothing like you. I don't know what caused my path to turn away from yours - they were parallel for so long. But fuck. I can't imagine being like you because then I'd hate myself just as much as I hate you.
Fuck you. You're 20, 21, 25 - where are your heads? Why can't you see how fucking fucked up you are? Goddamn. I don't need this in my life. I don't need you in my life. Any of you. You bring me nothing but anger, despair, and bitterness, infecting me, and only further causing me to be a cynical asshole.
Fuck you, I don't need you in my life. I don't need this.
I'm leaving.
I'm gone.
Kisses
"I love you. I love you. I love you." He repeated time and time again, kissing her fists, her scars, her fingers, her wrists, her hands, her knuckles, her palms. Thoughts, feelings, words, hopes and fears swirled in her mind, and her mouth opened - silent. Instead of release, instead of letting her go, they grasped at her throat, clawing, and choked her from the inside out. Her head swayed slightly, side to side, and she tensed fleetingly, unable to bring her exhausted, diffident eyes to the eager, desperate ones that were fixed on her, a mere face-lengths away. Again, she opened her mouth; again, she closed it - silent. "But I love you."
Words of a Stranger
"It's always difficult for me to speak and express my innermost thoughts in person. I prefer to write. When I sit down and write, words grow very docile, they come and feed out of my hand like little birds, and I can do almost what I want with them; whereas when I try to marshal them in the open air, they fly away from me."
- Philippe Claudel, Brodeck
The words of strangers fare so well in describing my very thoughts and sentiments, so much better than my own.
- Philippe Claudel, Brodeck
The words of strangers fare so well in describing my very thoughts and sentiments, so much better than my own.
Love Me
"Love me, because love doesn't exist, and I have tried everything that does."
- Jonathan Safran Foer, Everything is Illuminated
- Jonathan Safran Foer, Everything is Illuminated
A Series of Non Sequiturial Thoughts
I feel as if I am stuck. Stuck in this strange place, this strange life where I simply go through the motions and time passes quickly by, day by day. I am not happy but neither am I sad; I am nothing. And the mundaneness of my routine only fuels this nothingness even more. This place evokes no response because it is no longer strange; it has become too familiar and we all know how well I do with familiarity.
I am so tired. Always, so tired. I have too much on my plate, but I can't give any of it up. And I would never want to. Being busy is something that I am always, even subconsciously, trying to be because I don't want to stop and see how drab my quotidienne life has become but this then becomes the routine and it is a perpetual cycle.
I miss witnessing the falling snow and being mesmerized by its beauty and calmed by its frost. I miss stepping in the foot tracks that were made by the one walking before me and how comforting it felt.
I wonder if non sequiturial is even a word. Isn't it strange, how we can convince ourselves that a word is a word by repeating it over and over to ourselves until the idea of it not being a word becomes absurd. Although, it is the same with all of the other delusions in our lives that we convince ourselves are reality, isn't it. Repetition is key. To perfection and likewise to destruction.
I have an insatiable desire for solitude, no matter how abundant the love is around me. Some nights I sit out on my roof and watch as the planes fly by and away and am filled with longing to be on one of them, going, going running flying leaving venturing to someplace new because I am never satisfied with where I am in the present. I am not satisfied nor content with where I am or what I am or what I have but neither do I know exactly what I want because I know nothing.
I seem to have developed an inability to speak when it matters most. My mind is filled with words that would appease and put at ease not only those around me but also my own scattered mind, but these words never make it out. They get caught in my throat and tie up my tongue and I am left with nothing to offer but a silence that only keeps us both guessing.
I don't allow myself to sleep, or rather, there is something that is keeping me from much needed, much desired, slumber. I find myself, night in and night out, staying awake long after I have gone to bed, and not for any particular reason. I find things to distract myself from my aching head and my heavy eyelids and my tired heart because I can't, I just can't let myself fall asleep. And I don't know why or at least I don't want to admit why so for now I'll keep my distractions at hand.
I am so tired. Always, so tired. I have too much on my plate, but I can't give any of it up. And I would never want to. Being busy is something that I am always, even subconsciously, trying to be because I don't want to stop and see how drab my quotidienne life has become but this then becomes the routine and it is a perpetual cycle.
I miss witnessing the falling snow and being mesmerized by its beauty and calmed by its frost. I miss stepping in the foot tracks that were made by the one walking before me and how comforting it felt.
I wonder if non sequiturial is even a word. Isn't it strange, how we can convince ourselves that a word is a word by repeating it over and over to ourselves until the idea of it not being a word becomes absurd. Although, it is the same with all of the other delusions in our lives that we convince ourselves are reality, isn't it. Repetition is key. To perfection and likewise to destruction.
I have an insatiable desire for solitude, no matter how abundant the love is around me. Some nights I sit out on my roof and watch as the planes fly by and away and am filled with longing to be on one of them, going, going running flying leaving venturing to someplace new because I am never satisfied with where I am in the present. I am not satisfied nor content with where I am or what I am or what I have but neither do I know exactly what I want because I know nothing.
I seem to have developed an inability to speak when it matters most. My mind is filled with words that would appease and put at ease not only those around me but also my own scattered mind, but these words never make it out. They get caught in my throat and tie up my tongue and I am left with nothing to offer but a silence that only keeps us both guessing.
I don't allow myself to sleep, or rather, there is something that is keeping me from much needed, much desired, slumber. I find myself, night in and night out, staying awake long after I have gone to bed, and not for any particular reason. I find things to distract myself from my aching head and my heavy eyelids and my tired heart because I can't, I just can't let myself fall asleep. And I don't know why or at least I don't want to admit why so for now I'll keep my distractions at hand.
Never Coming, Never Going
I am never coming back -- there is nothing calling me, nothing drawing me in, nothing. It was never a home but a house filled with strangers and I was nothing more than a transient waiting for the moment I could move on and away and anyway if home is where the heart is then I'm still searching, I'm still looking for my heart. Blood is not thicker than water and it is all now just water under the bridge and you can take your words and your thoughts and just toss them into that stream and forget about me as surely as I will forget about you -- I am never going back.
I Am Done With This Summer
I am done with this summer, I am done with this heat. I am done with stepping outside my door and choking on the humidity. It only makes me feel bitter and disgusted and indolent.
I am done with this summer, I am ready for the fall. I am ready for the boots and the scarves, the hot chocolates and the teas, the colorful leaves and the bristly winds. I am ready for the falling rain to come and wash away this disturbed, depressed, discomforted feeling I cannot shake, to come and make me new. I become alive with the cold and I am ready for it to stir me from this waking dream, which has become more and more of a nightmare.
I am done with this summer, I am anxiously awaiting the change. For the colors to fill the trees, for the clouds to fill the skies, for the cold season's joy to fill my heart.
I am done with this summer.
I am done with this summer, I am ready for the fall. I am ready for the boots and the scarves, the hot chocolates and the teas, the colorful leaves and the bristly winds. I am ready for the falling rain to come and wash away this disturbed, depressed, discomforted feeling I cannot shake, to come and make me new. I become alive with the cold and I am ready for it to stir me from this waking dream, which has become more and more of a nightmare.
I am done with this summer, I am anxiously awaiting the change. For the colors to fill the trees, for the clouds to fill the skies, for the cold season's joy to fill my heart.
I am done with this summer.
The Day Your Dog Dies
You repeat to yourself - she's just a symbol. She's just a dog. Don't repeat this too many times, before you realize tears will be running down your cheeks to form tiny pools in the cracks in your palms.
The Day Your Dog Dies | Thought Catalog
RIP Max, RIP Jack.
The Day Your Dog Dies | Thought Catalog
RIP Max, RIP Jack.
I Want to Inspire You
I want to inspire you. I wouldn't go so far as to say that I want to be your muse, I just want to stir something in you. I want you to feel passion, to feel energy roaming through you, pushing you towards something. I want to be the cause behind a poem, a story, an act, a dream. It doesn't have to be grand, it doesn't have to be all that memorable. It doesn't matter whether our lives are intertwined for years or if they simply intersect for a moment, and then bounce off one another. It doesn't matter whether you love me or feel nothing but indifference towards me. It doesn't matter, the details don't matter. I just want to inspire you.
Brief Interviews With Indecisive People
“Why can’t I just tell him, hey, I’m going through a thing. Sorry if I’m being a crazy butthead right now?”
“You can’t just tell a guy that,” she says.
“Why not? Why am I supposed to just play this game where I act normal when I don’t feel normal? Why can’t I just be honest with him? Why don’t people do that? I feel like we’d all understand each other better if we did that.”
“You can’t just tell a guy you’re crazy.”
“….Fine. I won’t.”
“Well.” He laughs. “You kind of just described life,” he says.
On the phone with you, I also cry. You don’t know I’m crying. I tell you about another time when I cried and you didn’t know, when we’d ended an email correspondence — an innocuous one —and I’d cried myself to sleep for no reason I can figure out.
Even when I’m happy with you, I want to cry.
Brief Interviews With Indecisive People | Thought Catalog
“You can’t just tell a guy that,” she says.
“Why not? Why am I supposed to just play this game where I act normal when I don’t feel normal? Why can’t I just be honest with him? Why don’t people do that? I feel like we’d all understand each other better if we did that.”
“You can’t just tell a guy you’re crazy.”
“….Fine. I won’t.”
------
“It’s so doomed,” I tell him about us (the new “us”) over dinner. “But it’s happening anyway.”“Well.” He laughs. “You kind of just described life,” he says.
------
I cry a little bit to myself while standing on the subway platform waiting for the L to take me from Brooklyn to Manhattan. My phone doesn’t have service so I type in a bunch of text messages to you that I’ll never hit “send” on.On the phone with you, I also cry. You don’t know I’m crying. I tell you about another time when I cried and you didn’t know, when we’d ended an email correspondence — an innocuous one —and I’d cried myself to sleep for no reason I can figure out.
Even when I’m happy with you, I want to cry.
Brief Interviews With Indecisive People | Thought Catalog
Humanity pt. III
People are killed for money, power, and just the hell of it. Children are battered and abused and betrayed by the very ones that are meant to protect them. Young girls are sold because there are men who are willing to pay for them. The color of one's skin still determines how they are treated and what opportunities they are given. Society always finds someone to discriminate against. Comedians find rape jokes amusing and the audience finds them entertaining. Girls are taught from the youngest age that they are not good enough. Animals are tortured for amusement. Money is the highest being to be worshiped. Women are told they are not accomplished until they become a wife and a mother. Politicians care more about winning elections than making a change. The Earth is being destroyed. One in three women are sexually abused because society teaches "don't get raped" instead of "don't rape." Arrogance, greed, lust for money and power, pride, self-love, vanity prevail.
There is no hope.
There is no hope.
Humanity pt. II
Humanity is disgusting. We think ourselves to be so civilized and advanced and intelligent but we are none of the above; we are barbaric and hateful and stupid, and apparently doomed to continually repeating the mistakes of our past. (If you are not on a similar level of despair, watch the movie Crash. By the time it's over, the only thing you will want to do is weep for the human race.)
I have a decent life. I'm fortunate enough to have a home to live in (a fairly nice one, at that), food to eat (such an abundance that I have the luxury of being picky and choosy), am able to get an education at an institution of my choosing (and study whatever "pointless" things I so choose) -- the list could go on. I have what I need, and much of what I want, but then I get to thinking too much, and I become filled with despair and frustration and indignation. Because when I look just past my immediate, rosy little bubble, I see the reality of the world: sex trafficking, rape, child abuse, racism, sexism, domestic violence, murder, homophobia, religious bigotry -- violent destruction with no end in sight.
The people of this world have been beaten and battered and abused, and the Earth along with them. Not only can we not take care of and protect each other, we can't even take care of this planet that sustains us. If we have made any progress as a species, it is minuscule.
Humanity is disgusting.
I have a decent life. I'm fortunate enough to have a home to live in (a fairly nice one, at that), food to eat (such an abundance that I have the luxury of being picky and choosy), am able to get an education at an institution of my choosing (and study whatever "pointless" things I so choose) -- the list could go on. I have what I need, and much of what I want, but then I get to thinking too much, and I become filled with despair and frustration and indignation. Because when I look just past my immediate, rosy little bubble, I see the reality of the world: sex trafficking, rape, child abuse, racism, sexism, domestic violence, murder, homophobia, religious bigotry -- violent destruction with no end in sight.
The people of this world have been beaten and battered and abused, and the Earth along with them. Not only can we not take care of and protect each other, we can't even take care of this planet that sustains us. If we have made any progress as a species, it is minuscule.
Humanity is disgusting.
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