First, to they that noticed and took it upon themselves to create action, to impose motion, to say so: Thank you piracy and porcelainheart.
Onward: I am very bitter lately. Angry, upset, generally pissy with everything and everyone. I find fault with just about any croaker in front of me. It isn't even people, necessarily. More like a generally piss poor attitude about everything. And this is what worries me. I wasn't always so pessimistic; I wasn't always so quick to anger. Curse this fucking language. Words don't match.
I used to be able to take things in stride. I used to know how to view it. It took some work and many years of pouring over anything that might say something -- books from Burroughs to Confucius to Thompson to Camus to Salinger; films from Conan the Barbarian to the Godfathers to Bob the Super Masochist to Bergman flicks to chambara; music from David Torn to the Birthday Party to Coltrane to the static between radio stations; long discussions with friends and strangers over things from politics to game strategies to philosophy to anecdotal drunken loitering (we thought we were poets). Then everything made sense for a while. It was subtle. I didn't realize it until it had already happened. I could see it, right there, just underneath.
And just as subtly it seems to have gone. I am generally disgusted.
i think i need a good yawp.
Onward: I am very bitter lately. Angry, upset, generally pissy with everything and everyone. I find fault with just about any croaker in front of me. It isn't even people, necessarily. More like a generally piss poor attitude about everything. And this is what worries me. I wasn't always so pessimistic; I wasn't always so quick to anger. Curse this fucking language. Words don't match.
I used to be able to take things in stride. I used to know how to view it. It took some work and many years of pouring over anything that might say something -- books from Burroughs to Confucius to Thompson to Camus to Salinger; films from Conan the Barbarian to the Godfathers to Bob the Super Masochist to Bergman flicks to chambara; music from David Torn to the Birthday Party to Coltrane to the static between radio stations; long discussions with friends and strangers over things from politics to game strategies to philosophy to anecdotal drunken loitering (we thought we were poets). Then everything made sense for a while. It was subtle. I didn't realize it until it had already happened. I could see it, right there, just underneath.
And just as subtly it seems to have gone. I am generally disgusted.
i think i need a good yawp.