This blog lacks Christina Hendricks.

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So here's some.

My blog consists mostly, if not only of various rants, chronicles of dreams and Bukowski.

I only recently started reading Bukowski's poems, and I have enjoyed everything- well, most everything I've read so far. I love the gloomy, bitter, deadpan cynicism of it all.
Here's looking at you, you wonderful, cranky old drunk man. :hat-tip:

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Reading Murakami, Bukowski, Sylvia Plath, Vonnegut et al.
I can almost imagine an older version of myself, reading this blog after a long time and thinking to herself what a pretentious little asshat she used to be. -.-

More Bukowski?

Hello, minuscule portion of the world that chooses to read my blog.

I haven't blogged in a while. No significant thoughts to share, no bizarre dreams to document.

Now that I mention it, hardly anything that happens to me can be deemed blogworthy.
Earlier this week I dreamt about being trapped in a crashing plane filled with convicts, a la Con Air, but everyone had horse heads. So? Who gives a damn?
[I did have that dream. No joke.]

To quote Easy A, a movie I have watched at least 3 times during the course of today:  


"I don't know what your generation's fascination is with documenting your every thought...but I can assure you, they're not all diamonds. "Roman is having an OK day, and bought a Coke Zero at the gas station. Raise the roof." Who gives a rat's ass?"


Exactly. Not many people.
And to be honest, I'd have it no other way. When a significant portion of your family is out and about on facebook, you REALLY need to check and double check anything you do on there.Which means I can't have status updates like "Snickerdoodle has been wasting her life away by reading smutty fanfiction and drinking mango juice. Because YOLO"
You get the idea, no?

So, in a way, this blog is my solace, my treehouse. I'm not bound by certain :norms: that I need to keep in mind when I post things on here. I can vent and vent as much as I like and not have to be answerable to anybody. And Lord knows how much I can vent.

God, blogs. Without them I'd still probably be trying to maintain a diary, and we all know how excellent my track record is in that area. :shudder:

Kthxbai.

Returned home to this piece of awesomeness.

 

As far as cake icing messages go, this one :cough: takes the cake.

"the crunch" (Charles Bukowski).

too much too little

too fat
too thin
or nobody.

laughter or
tears

haters
lovers

strangers with faces like
the backs of
thumb tacks

armies running through
streets of blood
waving winebottles
bayoneting and fucking
virgins.

an old guy in a cheap room
with a photograph of M. Monroe.

there is a loneliness in this world so great
that you can see it in the slow movement of
the hands of a clock

people so tired
mutilated
either by love or no love.

people just are not good to each other
one on one.

the rich are not good to the rich
the poor are not good to the poor.

we are afraid.

our educational system tells us
that we can all be
big-ass winners

it hasn’t told us
about the gutters
or the suicides.

or the terror of one person
aching in one place
alone

untouched
unspoken to

watering a plant.

people are not good to each other.
people are not good to each other.
people are not good to each other.

I suppose they never will be.
I don’t ask them to be.

but sometimes I think about
it.

the beads will swing
the clouds will cloud
and the killer will behead the child
like taking a bite out of an ice cream cone.

too much
too little

too fat
too thin
or nobody

more haters than lovers.

people are not good to each other.
perhaps if they were
our deaths would not be so sad.

meanwhile I look at young girls
stems
flowers of chance.

there must be a way.

surely there must be a way that we have not yet
thought of.

who put this brain inside of me?

it cries
it demands
it says that there is a chance.

it will not say
“no.”

Merely Speculation.

You just stick to your kpop and radiohead, and watch the world pass you by. Never change.

"Stay the same, never change"?
That, in my opinion, is the most terrifying thing to write in anyone's yearbook. Why would anyone wish that for a person? The last thing I would like to remain is a stupid, hormonal and possibly borderline schizophrenic individual.

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Everything I've done so far has just been a passing phase. I've eventually lost interest in it, and never thought about that thing again. Is the entirety of life just a bunch of phases? Am I just going to lose interest in any, or all the choices I make in the future? I suppose so.

In the end, what differentiates one's life from another is how much more anal retentive is one person than the other. How much longer we can hold on to a choice and base our lives upon it.
The ability to move from one choice to another is what keeps us alive. The moment we lose interest in everything, we're considered dead, I guess.