The discordant jangling of churchbells.
Are you fucking kidding me?
I don’t even believe in your god any more
The discordant jangling of churchbells.
PORTIA DE COOGAN
I forget how meditative heavy, loud, live music is.
I am so fucking sick of being old, of having responsibilities, of being miserable, of being relied upon and being rarely reliable, of waking up, of this shitty house, the loneliness, even when waking up beside someone.
I’m sick of being sick and sickening. I’m sick of having a head half full of dead dreams, of having no hopes left, of struggling to get through day to day, of apathy, of the thought that “better off dead” is better than waiting for the next step.
I’m sick of waiting for this tragicomic farce to reach the bitter last laugh punchline. I’m sick of myself, I’m sick from the hollow left from everything I’ve lost and I’m sick that I struggle to acknowledge and appreciate how easy I actually have it.
I am so fucking sick of being addicted.
Kyla La Grange - Cut Your Teeth (Mahogany Sessions)
Fences - Girls With Accents
maps // yeah yeah yeahs
wait, they don’t love you like i love you
“I can believe things that are true and things that aren’t true and I can believe things where nobody knows if they’re true or not.
I can believe in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny and the Beatles and Marilyn Monroe and Elvis and Mister Ed. Listen - I believe that people are perfectable, that knowledge is infinite, that the world is run by secret banking cartels and is visited by aliens on a regular basis, nice ones that look like wrinkled lemurs and bad ones who mutilate cattle and want our water and our women.
I believe that the future sucks and I believe that the future rocks and I believe that one day White Buffalo Woman is going to come back and kick everyone’s ass. I believe that all men are just overgrown boys with deep problems communicating and that the decline in good sex in America is coincident with the decline in drive-in movie theaters from state to state.
I believe that all politicians are unprincipled crooks and I still believe that they are better than the alternative. I believe that California is going to sink into the sea when the big one comes, while Florida is going to dissolve into madness and alligators and toxic waste.
I believe that antibacterial soap is destroying our resistance to dirt and disease so that one day we’ll all be wiped out by the common cold like martians in War of the Worlds.
I believe that the greatest poets of the last century were Edith Sitwell and Don Marquis, that jade is dried dragon sperm, and that thousands of years ago in a former life I was a one-armed Siberian shaman.
I believe that mankind’s destiny lies in the stars. I believe that candy really did taste better when I was a kid, that it’s aerodynamically impossible for a bumble bee to fly, that light is a wave and a particle, that there’s a cat in a box somewhere who’s alive and dead at the same time (although if they don’t ever open the box to feed it it’ll eventually just be two different kinds of dead), and that there are stars in the universe billions of years older than the universe itself.
I believe in a personal god who cares about me and worries and oversees everything I do. I believe in an impersonal god who set the universe in motion and went off to hang with her girlfriends and doesn’t even know that I’m alive. I believe in an empty and godless universe of causal chaos, background noise, and sheer blind luck.
I believe that anyone who says sex is overrated just hasn’t done it properly. I believe that anyone who claims to know what’s going on will lie about the little things too.
I believe in absolute honesty and sensible social lies. I believe in a woman’s right to choose, a baby’s right to live, that while all human life is sacred there’s nothing wrong with the death penalty if you can trust the legal system implicitly, and that no one but a moron would ever trust the legal system.
I believe that life is a game, that life is a cruel joke, and that life is what happens when you’re alive and that you might as well lie back and enjoy it.”
— American Gods, Neil Gaiman (via nakedpersons)
if only you could see yourself now,
you’re settling back into a quiet autumn
and you’ve missed the smell of must, rain, and tobacco
kissed into the corners and couches
of the same house you share with seven others.
you miss the girl who used to sleep on your couch
who had the skull of the bird she is named after
tattooed across her arm.
you are glad you stopped drinking.
it’s 2am and you’re staying up far too late.
you have an interview for a job in the morning
that you will come to hate in 2 months.
you’re not in love the way you expected.
some memories turned into broken drawers
that you chose to store all your knives in,
every time you open them, they always come spilling out towards you.
you miss having sex with people you also love.
precariousness is now the pillow you sleep upon,
and you no longer have such structured repeating romance.
you no longer have such a structured repeating life,
and I know it killed you that you knew it wasn’t forever.
i know i can’t stop you from panicking,
but it will all make sense.
you repeat repeat repeat repeat repeat repeat
until you realized it was too early to build such a life based on repetition.
you’re settling back into a quiet autumn,
and you’re stone sober at 4am after a Friday night
while the world starts to makes a strange kind of sense,
the same way words become meaningless when repeated enough times.
all of this
is to say,
you made it this far,
and i’m proud of you.
Road to happiness. Step 1: build a den, read comics in it.
I am alone and I surround myself with loners.
I need to leave
And go some
There’s a thing about perspective, she says. He thinks he knows what she’s going to say. She surprises him though. Perspective & lists, she says. Sequences of nouns & parallel lines meeting because of nothing but increasing distance. You could almost resent it, she says, how that shit gets you. She strikes her own breastbone & shakes her head.
All I’ve been able to do is drink and sleep.
And when I sleep I dream of her that left me
Or her that is gone.
And I wake up in a cold sweat alone.
Rachel’s - Water From The Same Source.