i thought you were the sweetest kill

the worst feeling is being frustrated for no good fucking reason because it's not the kind of thing you can explain to someone

hi this is my life right now

i promise one day i'll get around to writing good things again, or at least writing eloquently and nicely again, maybe when i invest in that goddamn typewriter

i just can't stand so many things and i just don't understand so many things and it makes me so upset and annoyed for reasons i cannot express properly which makes me even more mad and it turns into this vicious fucking cycle of dissastisfaction and exasperation with life in general

just sit me down and tell me something nice and run your fingers through my hair and tell me something else nice and kiss me wholeheartedly and lovingly and convince me that i am capable of doing something right and good in this life

please

just

please

i hope i never see the day when ambition fades away

i'd rather dive off of the newburgh-beacon than live a life so meaningless

cover my mouth so not a sound comes out

no matter what the outcome

accept it that i can't go back

to correct decisions made

and counteract feelings so afraid

i'm starting to see what you said

all along but i still disagree

can't put a price tag on

the things we've seen

or the nights that meant so much to me

good luck with the woulda-coulda shit

your dreams will never come true

good luck with the woulda-coulda shit

your dreams will never come true

it's impossible to choose

with everything that you've got

left to lose

and these days

nothing's ever black and white

we're just all lost in the details

every question weighs a ton, is this so wrong that it can't be undone?

fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck ufck ufck fu ck fuck fuckufck ufck fuck fuc k

fuck fcukfc

fuck

note to self

you live in reality

lower your expectations

i don't necessarily know how to write about certain things and i suppose that's good because if i do then i'll overthink every detail and it's just better if i don't

we made love tonight as the result of a fight

when you put your arms around me the whole world's alright

and a day's worth of bitching goes down the drain

when you lay in my bed and pick my brain

shut up, shut up, it's my turn to talk

and don't try to run before you learn to walk

because a day's worth of bitching goes down the drain

when you lay in my bed and pick my brain

i left my heart with my phone in my center console

i left my feelings with my wallet and my keys

i feel so stupid because i came here without anything

but i'm finally at ease

i think i've realized what my problem is: i care too much.

i care too much about things that most choose to ignore, and i get tangled up in everyone elses webs when i should be figuring out how to detangle my own. i care too much about people, and too much about potential situations, and too much about nonexistent truths. i've tried caring less, but then i feel like a bad person. there's no in between. i'm stuck feeling too much.

maybe it's a good thing. maybe it means i have a big heart or some other optimistic bullshit. who knows. i sure don't.

why do i keep doing this to myself

summer goals

• so many photos. as much film as i can get my hands on, and disposable cameras galore.
• reading books i want to read but never make the time for.
• playing the piano, improving as much as i can.
• covering my walls with inspiration no matter how messy or disorganized it looks.
• not wasting money on unnecessary things - save for roadtrips and concert tickets.
• live music. live fucking music.
• letting my hair grow, grow, grow. don't do anything with it.
• embracing my freckles, because they'll continue to accumulate no matter what.
• invest in a typewriter, nice paper, and good calligraphy pens.
• get the fuck outside more often.
• spend time on the roof. find new roofs to spend time on.
• don't be afraid.
• more painting and drawing even though i suck.
• get that tattoo, goddammit.
• cook more.
• start running again.
• take advantage of what i have and stop worrying about what i want.
• find ways to make money without hating my life.
• forget about planning for the future and concentrate on now. now. now.

you know sometimes when your sense of touch is activated in a way that makes you feel so content that words can't even begin to explain how perfectly aware you are of everything around you and how you don't need anything else other than that exact moment, for the time being at least, in order to feel happy?

yeah.

i said "love is waiting

and better days"

smiled and placed a kiss

on my waiting face

promise what you will

something good for me

time will take it all

and it will

you'll see

fuck

i'm sorry for everything i haven't done and i'm sorry for everything i've been too scared to say and i know i've kept my thoughts and feelings locked in a box buried in my chest but just know that you hold the key to find it occupying the space between bones and now i'm opening up and spilling everywhere for you to see but i'm past the point of caring because you ease my weary skin that's been stretched by past regrets and empty words i've heard too many times before so please hold on carefully until our bones become intertwined and we can't let go even if we tried so we can reinvent ourselves upon this beach while we let the waves crash around our feet and the saltwater sink into our pores because we're ready, we're so ready for something big like this

my stomach is turning

and my head is heavy

and my lungs yearn to be filled with the sweet smell of summer air

and the word 'failure' is lingering on the edge of my lips

but i'm pushing it back into my mouth

and swallowing it whole

so i can trudge through these next three days

and then slip off my dirty shoes

and leave them behind in this god awful city

that sucks the soul right out of my body

and leaves me feeling careless and tired and empty

i'm moving forward, i'm moving so fucking far forward

never forgetting the muddy tracks i leave behind

but knowing i'm better than that

i'm so much better than that

for when i need it most

"being 18 is strange. you know you're 18. popular mythologies dictate someday you'll look back and romanticize being 18. so you know you're supposed to be living out some kind of idealized freedom. but being 18, you're able to block out that pressure of expectation and get on with the business of idealized freedom. or is that just how i now remember being 18, lens smeared with vaseline? i think even the deep confusion of being 18 felt good, romantic somehow. you don't yet know that being 19 is stranger and 21 stranger still, and from now on every day will seem stranger than the day before until suddenly you're 30 then 35 and you're divorced and broke and some people you know die and everyone else has babies, both of which reveal life to be truly but a dream and you have no choice but to continue and the shit job you had is the shit job you still have and you wonder if people don't age like russian dolls; each year a shell over the last, restraining access to past senses of wonder and the hangovers are worse and hardly make hanging out at all seem worth it, and if you drink now you're just another drinking jerk and if you still smoke pot, now you're some adult drug-addict which is very different than being a daring young psychoaut and the impossible trick becomes learning how to best tread all the strangeness that gets stranger everyday in a manner that suits you personally. and personally, i am still working on it. but i figure continuing to work in it is my only option."

- tim kinsella

everything is okay. everything is okay. everything is okay.

stop freaking out. you have no reason to freak out.

this will be over in twelve hours.

in twelve hours you will have unveiled the work, bared your soul, and moved on with your life.

everything is okay.

everything.

is.

okay.

i want to live off nothing besides the sun, perfectly exposed rolls of film, kind words and the thought that i can start over again whenever i want to, wherever i want to, with whoever i want to.

this means a lot to me

i recall once on the church steps, when i moved to kiss your chest, how we paid such close attention to each sweet and stuttered breath. i should've stopped to paint the picture, captured honest pure affection, just to document the difference between attraction and connection.

i can see all of my friends and i break into empty buildings. when the coast was clear, with backpacks full of beer, we'd throw bottles from the rooftop at this city - it looked endless. guess i still don't see the difference between real purpose and that urgent adolescence.

and i remember in a basement sharing sweat, with all these stranger boys and girls. "we'll change the world!", we sang, "we'll change the world!" but nothing seems to change and they say none of them will listen. but i still see much more power in that basement than in elected politicians.

and if we get beaten by this winter, if we get strangled by regret, just let our love of life and tension gasp in sweet and stuttered breaths, and have them lay us in a basement, smash some bottles on the ground, and say we never knew the difference between the feeling and the sound.

remember not our faulty pieces, remember not our rusted parts. it's not the petty imperfections that define us but the way we hold our hearts, and the way we hold our heads. i hope they write your name beside mine on my gravestone when i'm dead. and when we're dead let our voices carry on to find a better song.

to find a better song and sing along.

and this is just another reason to add to my laundry list of things that keep me from wanting to ever come back here.

i'm always really fucking surprised getting positive feedback on some sort of stupid project that i actually put a little bit of personal meaning behind. like. really surprised.

i am working on bettering myself and repairing how i see myself. i promise. it's coming in small steps but every inch counts. perhaps i breathe at a different frequency than what you are used to but i assure you that this self-improvement is as worthwhile as anything. you inspire me to stay calm and i appreciate every shard of your existance. i'm trying to be more honest and open instead of holing myself up in a dark room hiding behind a wall of doubt and fear. i know i can trust you and i know i can count on you but you must know that i am broken. i am messy. i am not perfect. my scars and flaws overwhelm me sometimes and somehow you're always there to catch me before they swallow me whole. your fingertips are enough to leave a mark on my fragile skin when i'm weak, and you have done more than enough to leave a mark on my heart. i want to do the same for you. and i swear that through all the open wounds and fumbling words and tiny annoyances, the feelings i harbour are real. i want you, i want this, i want everything you stand for and all the baggage you carry on your back.

what the fuck is even happening right now

there's that empty feeling in my stomach again

something is missing

it's not something i can ask for

it's not something i can hope will be handed to me

but i wish

i wish that i could

i wish i could take what i wanted from the air around me, from the air i breathe in

that way i wouldn't have to dig so far

dig my gritty nails into my empty stomach

dig my gritty nails through my wandering mind

i could just breathe in that little fraction of life that i need to get me going again

i'm off track

i'm out of mind

i'm not in the right state, the right place, where i want to be

where i want to be

it's a simple statement but it means so fucking much

where do i want to be?

i wish i knew

i wish i knew now

i have patience, i really do

but there is still

something

missing

i just want to be comforted

comforted in the folds of skin and flesh

words can only do so much

and right now they're not nearly enough

i'm getting back into that sort of writing that doesn't seem coherent or consistent and is nothing but scattered and messy and scary and i don't really like it.

people are so fickle

they fall in love at different angles

so really i could lose you just as quickly as i've gotten you

and that's the kind of thought that makes me nervous

and worried if you'll really think i'm worth it

when the rush wears off and you're left with this busted person

but if you tell me you will i will do what i can to believe it

so baby all the things that i've seen

last night while asleep

this morning, they're messing with me

and now i'm anxious as hell

and looking for help

something pleasant and painless

some story to tell

with a throughline of calm

that could stop me from being myself

'cause all i think is how i wanna be your fever

just to know i make you heated

'cause i worry you might see me more like a blanket

who's there for comfort and for cover

from the glare of former lovers

all that passion that kissed you and bit you 'til you were devoured

and i'd like to get better 'cause thinking like this is torture

and if i can't stop it you'll get sick of bearing crosses

and you'll jump to cut your losses

you'll go get quarantined somewhere far from me

where it's much less dangerous

but maybe if i wake up and quit dreaming

i can shake and shit i'm fearing

and if i realize i'm just freaking out for no good reason

i'll tell you what:

if that's a line i can cross, once i get there, i'm not ever leaving

why do i let every fucking little thing get under my skin?

i have the best boyfriend in the world.

i wish you'd make up my bed

so i could make up my mind

try it for sleeping instead

maybe you'll rest sometime

i wish i could

i remember the water of the atlantic ocean stinging my toes, surprisingly colder than i imagined. transatlanticism coming on my ipod at the exact second my feet sunk into the pigments of dust and sand below the surface. being consumed with the feeling of what it's like to be alive. feeling like you just... get it, being alive is about moments like that.

i remember lying in the damp grass in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere, staring into a seemingly infinite sky, stars strewn across the purple sky. we told our secrets in the dark, opening up every pore of ourselves to each other just because we could. we laughed and then we cried, we fucking cried our eyes out. we never spoke of it aloud again. sometimes you don't have to say anything in order to understand the importance of it. being alive is about moments like that too.

i remember hovering over the earth, thousands of feet off the ground, watching the most beautiful sunrise i've ever seen. i had no idea where i was in the world, and it didn't matter. the sky was bright orange, the only time i've ever really liked the colour, laced with pinks and reds and yellows, burning through the windows on the plane. i was completely alone and overwhelmed by gratification for the earth and how fucking wonderful it can seem sometimes. these moments are important too.

i've realized recently that i need to slow the fuck down and take things one step at a time. it's not about getting through shit in the long run. it's about existing. existing day by day.

because if seeing is believing then believe that we have lost our eyes.

do you ever feel like you have no idea what the fuck you're doing with your life?

and sometimes i just hate everything and i want nothing more than a really good hug and a cup of tea.

continue to suck on those cigarettes, exhaling into the faces of the poor souls who pity you for some fucking reason that i will never understand. continue to pretend to loathe the world you live in, and everyone in it, but always remember that you are the scum of this very earth and you do not deserve a single individual populating it.