Rick needs skittles to live, Ash lives for skittles… Red ones anyway. What else could keep Ash from killing herself… Jokes jokes. Star Trek was good. Not the best… But I’m no movie critic. I have my issues but am too exhausted to indulge myself in the venting process. I think I am getting addicted to going to the theater… Random thought. Anyways, gotta work tomorrow. Cheers.
I wanna see The Anchorman 2. Boop. That is all.
About The Tree Thing.
It’s a cool thing to do. Please don’t go dying all of a sudden though. Just sayin. On another note, it’s pretty much the way Elves bury their dead loved ones, though they plant a tree once the person has been buried. Not much difference though. The whole idea being “Life springs up from death.” Whereas the idea now is to prolong the feeling that the person lives on somehow. ...
Just As Retarded.
Another dream. It was shorter than the read, geez. At first I was walking with my brother and his friends on a sidewalk in downtown cairo. As we approach the place that used to be where I got my hair cut, a girl we all know opens the door and calls my name and asks me where I’ve been. She wants me to come in, and I glance at my brother and friends then taste the line of two separate worlds by...
Through a house of reflective surfaces she walks, a version of herself much younger watching as the woman strikes her own head against the glass. Both turn away simultaneously and both turn again. For they are in fact mirror images. To continue looking through is to stand still. At least it’s gradually becoming less helpless.
You know how cats, mostly kittens, cuddle up close together even in the summer, like they just don’t want to sleep alone? I think my cat does that with me. Sometimes because he seems alone, others because he could possibly tell the hug addict needed a dose. Guess this sounds obsessive and cat-lady like. Oh well…
It tends to happen that I try to plan a post for this, if only to top the day off. It rarely sticks with with plan and becomes either embarrassing or full of what still remains to be so loud, all the while unsaid. And I think: Maybe I should just sleep before writing it out. But don’t you know it’s an escape. I plant myself in my bed and allow everything else to fester more. To...
Hugs & Silence.
Where the deepest sadness, happiness, contentment, or resentment dock there is silence. And it is music to the ears whether for escape, grief, calm, or relief. It has a significance that cannot be conveyed through telephones and devices alike. It demands to be experienced in person. Sort of like hugs.
Bored, Tired, but Not Lazy... Much.
The times I look with my hopes up to the moon… It’s eclipsed. That’s just how it goes, especially when the world is tired of you looking at it for some dull entry to write poorly. Like this. However, the world knows how to keep me from scrutinizing ruthlessly. Make it rain. Hm. I wish it would.
A little tired of the scenery here and I am sure the trees are tired of my spying just as much. Need to go out, feel a different fabric or taste another cupcake. I don’t know. If I stare anymore outside my window the house will eat me. That would be interesting, actually. Nom.
Should be a word. Hoody is retarded. I don’t think even that is a word. But hoodie should not give me the red squiggle.
I tell everyone I have minecraft on meh lappy and everyone is like.. FINALLY. I then tell them that my comp was so ashamed that it shut off right after I turned off the game and hasn’t awakened since… everyone gets quiet. “Why does you’re comp judge you so harshly, bro?” IDK BUT I MISS IT. Story of my life.
To Powder or To Pen?
“A journal is the clearest mirrior anyone can carry.” This is what my uncle said a couple days ago and I’ve been wondering how to make that line into something. All that has come to mind is: Yes, it is the clearest mirrior. Because it only ever has one view, and one being to reflect. Still, how distorted the image becomes through anothers eyes. Sounds like another excuse not to let anyone read...
Let's Play House.
Hoping to hang out with a few members of what has been a “closer than blood” family to me. It won’t be everyone, which isn’t exactly okay, but it will be nice to be around some that don’t make it feel fake to laugh. Maybe we’ll act like more than pathetic saps, either way I don’t mind. What disturbs me is how much it’s amounting to walking into a haunted house. Not so much by random...
He had ransacked the streets of Paris not because he supposed it was possible to...– Proust, Remembrance of Things Past, Volume 1. (via omgbunnyz)
Anything Could Happen.
Everytime that phrase is mentioned my gut churns out a signal for my head to explode. Some say it’s thrilling, and I’d like it to be. In a way it is… that way when you’re falling off the side of a building and you’re wondering if the last thing you feel will be enormous pain or nothing at all. When it’s all too late to turn around, will you hear for a split...
I think my comp has finally kicked the bucket. Maybe not… but this time it just looks so peaceful. We had good times, buddy. You saw my best and worst and everything in between. You’re not even cold yet, I know. That’s why I make this note for you now. You were my first laptop. I’ll always cherish our memories. You’ll always hold pieces of my life that are...
What To Make Of It.
As hormone highs die, and many signs of stress are fought against with showers and tea, my disoriented think-time is dressed with songs from fitting playlists. Approaching the on-coming awareness of depression produces the feeling of paint melting down the side of a wall into pools. (Yes, I suppose that is a feeling right now.) While all a mess, the colors remain as themselves, not blending. So I...
Time Of Pretend.
Moving through each day like it has a purpose can be done. It’s all how you choose your reality. How foolish you sell yourself in exchange for escape. If asked:”Are you alright?” You can perk up your lips, nod and shrug. No matter if anyone believes it, the moment flies by with the batting of lashes. Still, there is a corner within that whispers sentiment to me through all hours. It’s the same...
So Lady Like.
I will get around fifty or eighty pages into a story, thinking of the progress, then decide to read it all at once for enjoyment. The problem is my mind finds this little wrinkle to obsess over. That being: “Does this sound like a girl?” Often enough that’s what makes me scratch everything, burn it, toss it somewhere I won’t think of it again. Maybe it meant something so...
Smooth and Soft.
It would be a pleasure to just deal with my crooked nose, flatbutt, and being albino -even after laying out to tan- if all the bumps and rough spots would disappear. I wouldn’t complain about what I have now if my skin were clear.
Another Short Post.
Rain pattering against the window. Cat snoozing nearby. Some still awesome hoodies to bundle up with and sleep on… I’d write more. There’s more to crunch out about, I guess. However, it’s been a long day, so to whoever catches this… Have a good night. Stay toasty. <3
After I retired, my wife insisted that I accompany her on her trips to Walmart....– One more story on the internet.
I’m gonna miss you today, comp. But don’t worry I’ll be back this evening, and then we can have a good time. *hug* I’ll think of you.
I am often asked about authors instead of books. Authors that I should probably know more about. Yeah, should know, but usually I don’t. The back cover fold is about as far as my inclination goes when it comes to knowing the author. Maybe I’ll write down their name to look for more of their work, or in a genre. Still… Might be a pity. There are authors that catch my...
Something Not Reblogged.
It is so easy to find the words… as long as someone else has written them. Because they have already exhibited confidence in it enough to throw it out there. Or are just long dead and unable to care. It’s all borrowed boldness and cowardice, but it relieves what feels so full. Pretty pathetic. Yet, how nice to relate.
Imagica -- Nothing and Nowhere -- Demo -- TBM →
Wow, it’s been years since I heard this. I gotta give it a <3 for good times. Should really download all their stuff just to have it.
[[MORE]]Write long posts, read over them, correct them, and then delete the content. Starting over completely because I’m so cheesy and overly attached to stuff. It may be worse than writing/reading about cats, if that’s even possible at this point. However, to no end I write useless entries with a sense of what feels vague, but probably isn’t. Fully aware that there are some...
I have a "Stupidly Important" box.
It has everything from tea and herb pills to a spare cell phone and old notes. Since I got a cold, I went digging in it for some type of cure for a stuffy nose and I found the last talk slip received. On the back, there’s a poem. Personally, it doesn’t feel right to just toss it onto tumblr or such, but it made me smile reading it, simple as it is. So this post is pointless, other...
With All The Social Networks
Tomb stones will become obsolete. (Or just hipster.) It also means that unless you go through and delete years of crap from your online life, all those comments, chats, statuses and such will be left for the world. Neat. Side note: This is yet another reason not to have kids. Because when you die and leave your online profile out there, they can go on it and see what ol’ grandpa was up to...
And that feel when bad feel lessens… *sigh* Mostly.
That feel when you have bad feels and you have no idea why but you’re pretty sure there’s a reason. Needs a Teddy.
Truth Be Told...
It’s kinda nice having a rather peaceful belief. It has the most stacked pure moments than much else. On the other hand I should start pursuing better curiosities. Mine tend to lead down all the wrong paths to information not worth remembering, or getting into at all. Hm, any day now I’ll be struck by lightning… Sometimes I wonder what would have been if the way I was raised...
I hate dolls.
So much. Today, after helping “a friend” with school, doing my own, and such I had this chore to do and that was move some boxes full of someones mother’s junk up into a part of the garage. Part of the process was resealing and taping if need be. One of them was open somewhat and when I looked in side, there was one of those old, expensive dolls that I used to get as gifts in...