Depressed over things that don’t exist. Depressed over things that happened before, not now. Depressed that everything is going as it should without fault. Creating problems in my head because life doesn’t seem real unless I have them. Making myself upset over nothing. Not being able to accept anything. Wondering when I’ll hear bad news. Expecting bad news, because its been too long. Knowing how others felt. Not believing someone could be attracted to me. Not believing someone wants to be with me. Am I attractive in any way of: sexually, emotionally, mentally, personality, aesthetically. If so: why? Why is it hard for me to believe this? Why do I doubt myself? What other problems can I create for myself and hold in? Does the other person feel this way? Will I ever ask them? Do they know I feel inferior. I feel small. I feel expendable. I feel disposable. People tell me I’m not. Why can I not believe them? I just want to believe them.

6:55 am

There’s times where I see good times
as being in an inebriated state
You laying next to me with your head on my shoulder
as we lay fucked up and on drugs in my bed
That drug induced sense of euphoria
Moments that are always pleasurable
Sometimes it’s not always that
It’s something that’s like a lost remembered feeling
Something that’s ageless
That we can picnic in the gardens and discuss our aspirations
These are moments I see
Something more than what we wish for
It’s not a longing but a necessity
It’s our own measurable account of life
It’s oxygen
We usually don’t have enough
We’re high in all the times of our daily lives
Just as this decadence I wish for
I want an ageless moment with you

I’m back, to whom it may concern.  Last thing I got working in my new apartment was the computer, but in the midst of all the drinking and working some new music and poetry has been made.  Hopefully I’ll start posting regularly again.

Best Coast - Boyfriend

Sun Veiler

Past week there hasn’t been a time where I went to sleep before the sun came up.  While I make my walk to my car everyone’s out in the city walking around for whatever reason, either exercise or to get to work.  It’s 8 am and I see a little girl riding her bike as if she had somewhere to be.  The thought comically comes to mind, “They know I’m fucked up.”  Do I look like I’d be going anywhere at 8 am?  As if I just woke up?  Then I find it peculiar.  What are these people doing up?  I find it odd unless you’re going to work, and anytime I had to be at work that early I felt odd, that I was out of my zone.  Then you think there’s people like me, some secret society of those who run on whatever vice they have till the sun’s up, and then when the cogs started turning again it’s time for us to sleep.

defunctparadigm:

Another Defunct Paradigm creation; Boyde Rice.

Reblog because of doge on my dash today.

defunctparadigm:

Another Defunct Paradigm creation; Boyde Rice.

Reblog because of doge on my dash today.

He had reddish hair mixed with grey and a queer look. It was queer that he would always be a brother. It was queer too that you could not call him sir because he was a brother and had a different kind of look. Was he not holy enough or why could he not catch up on the others?

James Joyce, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man

Joyce’s various uses and context of the word “queer.”

To remember that and the white look of the lavatory made him feel cold and then hot. There were two cocks that you turned and water came out: cold and hot. He felt cold and then a little hot: and he could see the names printed on the cocks. That was a very queer thing.

James Joyce, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man

Joyce’s various uses and context of the word “queer.”

Dream 54

Many aspects in this dream, but a certain part was interesting as it seemed to be outside (or inside) a more specific point.  While in the surreal dreamsphere I was given a project to do that had to do writing about surrealistic aspects or relationships of pictures/drawings I was given, and instead I started writing songs about the pictures and who’s in them.  Sadly I can’t remember any of the verses I wrote.