on histories
a tale’s strength rests in its resolution
a happy ending is an illusion
for fools chasing a double rainbow
though, wouldn’t that be a way to go?
so completely and stupidly at peace
no, then death couldn’t hurt you, not in the least
on the inconsequential existence of organisms
death constitutes the loss of life
a theft, that cannot be done twice
sometimes, memories can remain
other times, the world spins the same
the living most affect themselves
and seldom care for anything else
night and day, they toil away
for this and that which cannot stay
the living envy not the dead
but I wish we could be permanent instead
However
considering what we had been doing a week ago
fucking
frowny face
it’s not like that was all I wanted
but if I pretend it was then it hurts less
Holy fuck I sound like a little girl, needing to be needed.
Time to go do shit.
Initially, a long text post on this blog usually means an essay of some sort in which some sort of truth may be reached at the end.
Your Heart
10/02/11
A thought of how cruel you used to be
Rentered my mind and truly scared me
What a surprise, you brought tears to my eyes
But perhaps there’s truth, disguised ‘tween your lies
You needn’t say a word
Your heart I already heard
Where’s the line ‘tween feeling too much and not enough?
More than a crush, oh you, you’re crushing
Who can say for sure
Why
When you look in my eyes my heart stirs
And yet of you I remain unsure
You needn’t a word
Your heart I already heard
09/19/11
Would you say that all life imitates art
Or do you believe art imitates life
All us creatures do indeed play a part
All our ugly lives are riddled with strife
The canvas can only convey so much
Every painter’s pallete is limited
A resemblence of you is not enough
I wish to show them, if I’m permitted
How I felt that moment I felt your touch
on hope
hope protects one from utter despair
in the darkest hours hope says she’s there
she whispers that things will get better
we believe, even when they never
then, blind and deaf to reality
we can sleep ever so peacefully
because maybe these times will improve
after all, what do we have to lose?
On Sexual Tension
Use sexual tension to your advantage. Sexual tension means a possibility for sex, and if sex should be the end goal, sexual tension can be a good measuring tool. The greater the sexual tension, the more likely that sex will be imminent. This could be why exes cannot be alone together; they will just end up boning. As far as creating sexual tension and building it up, I haven’t any experience in that area. Thankfully, the easiest way happens to be to simply exist. Unfortunately, that’s the only method known to me. There must be certain things you could do to artificially create the conditions in which existing builds sexual tension up naturally. Sexual tension can be thought of as a plant that only blooms under the right conditions, or when the conditions seem close enough to being right, such as in a greenhouse.
Have you ever felt on top of the world, as if you have just been crowned king of everything? It can simultaneously be the greatest and the most tragic feeling possible. Consider this, to be “number one” implies a hierarchy in which one element triumphs over another. Driven by competition, this hierarchy constantly shifts, so whoever stumbles into the top spot will eventually be replaced. Once the throne has been usurped, a former king can only try to reclaim the throne. Should he fail in this endeavor, the king shall be left with only the memories of his glory days as king. While he may now be wiser than he may have been then, for a time he got to be incredibly happy. Thankfully, for most of us, we can take solace in the likelihood that we will eventually be happy again, if not happier.
Also, as to whether or not it’s acceptable to behave like a little bitch
check, do you have a penis?
yes? then what are you doing?
no? then why are you perpetuating a gender stereotype?
Too Long; Don’t Read
I think of her sometimes, though I try not to. Moving on takes time. Usually, I’ll be fine„ when something will remind me of her. For instance, having dinner with Camille, I order a caesar salad and the salad reminds me of her. Specifically, how the one she made me tasted so good, how she washed and cut the veggies herself. That night/early morning she kissed me for the first time and
She filled me with such joy that night
I want to go back, but I’m not where her heart’s at
Meanwhile, my friends have been telling me “fuck bitches, get money”
“your album can potentially make you money. It’s better than her anyway,”
I dunno about that
“yo bro, she fucked you over, so fuck that, and you did, you already did, mission accomplished, this story is a smiley face, now stop being all fucking sad all the time, this isn’t an actual problem”
She fucked me over? Did she? It feels like my own failing
I want to see her again and have more good memories. I miss making her smile, being the source of her laughter, and being near her. It will be getting better for me eventually once my heart forgets
Except, why should I forget? I’d rather cherish it
I really haven’t the composure to be writing right now. This sort of thing usually doesn’t happen to me.
We all have flaws of some sort. Most of us try to correct these flaws and grow. Others either choose to ignore their faults or truly believe themselves to be perfect. To be blissfully ignorant would mean the pressure to be a better person would not be there. Instead of me realizing there was a problem and then doing something about it, there would be no realization.
My grades in my general bio class have been slipping lately because when given the chance to either listen to an old man lecture for an hour and 15 minutes or spend time with a pretty girl, my dick chooses the later. It gets worse though, because she’s totally not worth me jeopardizing my future. As great as my desire for her as a trophy may be, a part of me remains unsure about my feelings. How much one wants to display another as a trophy cannot be a sufficient means of determining how much one really likes another. There ought to be other criteria. As a person, she reminds me of a less destructive version of myself.
The trollersaurus facet of my personality had an internal dialogue with the rest of my introverted self. We share a field of study, okay, cool story bro, that does not actually matter that much. She wants to transfer to a different university, so don’t fuck up her dreams by making her care and holding her back. Then, there’s this look in her eyes when our eyes meet. She’s so, so cute, I’d love to hold her up as a mirror and make art with her body. Somehow, my time management skills have been good enough to fit her into the rotation of the other girls I’ve taken to partially to just feel better about myself. This is where it gets fucked up in that, well I must not really like this one girl if there’s other girls period. Like that really should not even be a consideration. The thing is, I may be using all of them to some extent, and eventually everything is going to fall apart. All it takes is one slip up and it all flies out the window. The easy out would be to friendzone them all. Fuck, that’s not even the easy out, that’s really the correct thing to do when you don’t feel the same.
I’m really not as mature as I’d like to be. The beard does put up a good illusion though.
And girls, girls are all universally crazy, some are just better at hiding their crazy than others. Crazy as in, it’s really unrealistic for me to be going for this, given how immature I am right now.
People watching has become a past time, and at the time of writing, this guy’s failing super hard. Let’s call him Greg, that may or may not he his actual name, whatever. Plain Jane approaches him, she’s got this quiver in her voice, but her body language is pretty clear that she’s interested. She pays him a compliment, and it catches him off guard. Really, that she’s even speaking with him catches him off guard. Greg stammers, and returns a compliment about her shirt. It’s called a blouse, but what’s lulzy here would be his inability to take a compliment, a simple “thank you,” Her blouse isn’t anything special, a solid color made from cheap material. Greg stutters, not really a big deal since our brains can still process what is being said, but he looks away from her when speaking, down at his feet. If only he could be confident enough to be a bit more forward.