not your perspective

 

SSRI

 

"the times, they are a-changing"

 

self titled

 

like a proper dying queer

 

waking life

 

on this:

I WANT TO FAKE MY OWN DEATH TO WANT TO KNOW HOW IT WOULD FEEL TO WANT TO FAKE MY OWN DEATH


I WANT TO FAKE MY OWN DEATH TO SEE HOW CREATIVE A DEATH I COULD COME UP WITH.


I WANT TO FAKE MY OWN DEATH BECAUSE I'VE ALREADY TRIED EVERYTHING ELSE.


BUT I do not WANT TO FAKE MY OWN DEATH TO SEE WHO WOULD NOTICE--I AM PERCEPTIVE ENOUGH TO SEE WHO AND WHO DOES NOT NOTICE ME AND DO NOT NEED THE RECOGNITION OR ATTENTION OF OTHERS IN MY LIFE TO CONTINUE HAVING A PURPOSE TO LIVE.

A SELF TO LIVE FOR.

passage of last night

 

listening to Regina Spektor and creating a collage on SSRIs this grand eve
December 24th, 20:35

no family (that is if my dad ever leaves for church. Jesus, save me from my dad’s supervision!)

just my camera, my new awesome bendable tripod, a drawing mannequin that I will inevitably paste magazine cut-outs on, a relatively useless rhyming dictionary, and the regular assorted quirky objects that I keep around for neurotic reasons (See: yellow happy face balloon, planchette to a(n?) ouija board, 3D glasses and drawing paper, elongated wooden don quixote statue [for prayer?], a golden snitch [replica/I’m in denial and it still won’t open no matter how many times I put it to my lips], a single skeleton glove [the other in my absent sister’s car], and an empty glass jar that I have just labeled “sanity” [a new addition to the family of toys]. I think I have finally found solace in the image I have created.

hopefully when father leaves I will hit a special holiday j and play with my camera whilst dancing about and rapping “Consequence of Sounds” in my nudy pants.

forever and (relatively) happily alone

merry life! and a happy internet, to all (‘all’ really only referring to all my followers).

XXXII

 

If thou survive my well-contented day,
When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover
And shalt by fortune once more re-survey
These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover,
Compare them with the bett'ring of the time,
And though they be outstripp'd by every pen,
Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme,
Exceeded by the height of happier men.
O! then vouchsafe me but this loving thought:
'Had my friend's Muse grown with this growing age,
A dearer birth than this his love had brought,
To march in ranks of better equipage:
But since he died and poets better prove,
Theirs for their style I'll read, his for his love'.
--William Shakespeare, Sonnet XXXII

When I die, I want someone to vouchsafe me but this loving thought:
'Had my friend's Muse grown with this growing age,
A dearer birth than this his love had brought,
To march in ranks of better equipage:
But since he died and poets better prove,
Theirs for their style I'll read, his for his love'.

Essentially, I'm trying to portray the ever present, almost unbiquitous idea that feels cringe-worthy whenever even though: I want to fall in love. There, I said it. And I will no long care about the societal connotation of "whiney" when I say it. I want love, I want love, I want love--and I will shout it from the highest high...the 'highest high' obviously being the internet. My blog obviously being my medium. You, my unknown, future lover, obviously being my muse.

I find it ridiculous that society should make us ashamed to say any of this.
I'm going to try and change that.
Not solely because it gives purpose, but because it's what I believe in with all my mind.

"I'm always on the prowl for Mr. Right.
Mr. Right Now [just] gets me by."
--Anonymous friend

What comes to mind is...
"We gon' find you, we gon' find you"
--Bed Intruder Song

so you can run and tell that.

fade

 

XXVIII

"But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer,
And night doth nightly make grief's length seem stronger."

Oh how love the Bard.
Another!
XXVII
Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,
The dear respose for limbs with travel tir'd;
But then begins a journey in my head
To work my mind, when body's work's expired:
For then my thoughts--from far where I abide--
Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee,
And keep my drooping eyelids open wide,
Looking on darkness which the blind do see:
Save that my soul's imaginary sight
Presents thy shadow to my sightless view,
Which, like a jewel (hung in ghastly night,
Makes black night beauteous, and her old face new.
Lo! thus, by day my limbs, by night my mind,
For thee, and for myself, no quiet find.


life just waxes dreadful at the moment. exams are over, and I know something bad has to happen.
This is a gift, it comes with a price.
Some songs can be applied to any situation you want
That, or you just haven't really read the lyrics fully.

lamp head

 

we wear our scarves just like a noose

but not because we want eternal sleep

oh, forgot about this

 

restriction

 

40grand

 

IDEAS:WE'LL GET THERE TIMES A JILLION
JUST HAD SHROOMS
oh my goodness
oh
my
and brownie
bits
crumbles
a scosh of brownie, i ponder
and jecture
and conjure
and th th th
is this what it feels like to trip?
to be happy?
to be a wounded animal again? to be free to die
free to laugh
i feel years older
i feel like i have lived so much of my life away already
tv taught men jow to feel, mpw rea; life hjav no apeal
it has no appel, it has no
ap
eal


20 years of clean
and navigators
and we need to see other people
and we need to see other boys
and we need to be sex in the cituuy
we need o break up
we need to win life
we need to fall in love!
we need to find the time
to find what we love
and do scool
and life
and the worlds




feel the walls 
baby,
the walls of my heart


i feel music in my bones
life insidde the music box anin;t easy








come on daddy

but

 

dp: i want to be the one making grandiose toasts and declarations and being spontaneous and active and energetic and adventurous...
dp: i'm just not this smart, engaging, quirky person i think i am

mp: then become that person
mp: nothing is holding you back but yourself

remember those times

 

 

 

 

it's all psychological

you can distort and change your own world
the other 6.7 billion consciousnesses in the world are

and thus we have destruction
and thus we have the world

backup plan

I itch and yearn for
the kitsch to burn knowing that
the twitch will return.

Pills in back pocket,
filtered through an eye socket
fueling a rocket.

I am done waiting
for a sign for fixating;
no time for delib--

XVIII

"So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.”

office assistant

On leafy fiends

while the poetry and prose of other writers blended together into a puree of similar style, your words stuck hooks into my skin, pulling epidermal layers closer to the pages with urgency. you meditation was good--and you would--give me intellectual wood, as only you could. and now I'm thinking how things should

be. understood?

good.

I am Lord Voldemort

Tom Marvolo Riddle

taxi fare

the middle seat was left unoccupied
while we both turned our heads to the side
looking out windows with nervous pride
on a mid-afternoon taxi ride.

you asked "why aren't we close anymore?"
interrogated like a prisoner of war
i muttered answers on which I swore
things would be different heretofore.

X

"Make thee another self for love of me,
That beauty still may live in thine or thee."

boo