Saturday, April 28, 2012

I'm so over people's idea of Friday night fun. See who they can get physical with first out of many different members of the opposite sex. I don't like flirting. I'm bad at it and I'm not interested in it. But yet I still enter these situations and my very being feels dirty while there. I don't want to be surrounded by strangers in a crowed room while under the influence anymore. I just can't find joy there. Only anxiety and a less dramatic, but still very real, form of misery.

I've realized that the only thing that has brought me true happiness lately is my art. That tells me something wonderful, but also makes me worry that artists are doomed with a true, but sometimes hidden, sadness in their realities forever. All I ever want to do is to crawl away into my brain and nap in my imagination all day, every day. It's comfortable and familiar but then it still can surprise me with results that swells my body with a pride that makes me humble.


Anonymous said...

"How do you fall in love with a man you hate? It's easy. You don't. You hate him. . .so much that his name won't escape your lips. So, your teeth catch it and grind it to bits. You swallow the mess, like a key or a secret. It travels to the darkest parts of you, that graveyard of dead thoughts. Phantoms resurrect themselves at night; his name murmurs in your dreams.

Don't you know? You can't backspace his name, wipe out his existence from your being. No, not when you digest the pieces of whom he is, absorb his essence into your blood—not when the letters of his name calcify in your bones, harden in your muscles, and keratinize in your skin. No, child… you can't deny a part of yourself.

How did this happen? That's easy. You fell in love. . .from the deadly kiss of a name on your lips."
--From MysticFay at Deviantart

Anonymous said...

Fail....This above comment was supposed to go on your latest post about how much you enjoy blogging. I thought you would enjoy it. Not trying to spam your blog. Sorry!