thoughts to music on ICQ and various other subjects
Lover, who I have yet to meet, promise me that our love will not be something that can be easily capsulated in a declaration in your ICQ info. I shutter to think that everything I mean to you can be described in a ill-formed and horribly structered 250 characters or less. I also request that you don't take it upon yourself to tell the Hot or Not community that "your taken". I don't know why I ask you these things, but trivialized digital notices that you are involved with me are a major turn off for some reason. Also, I will leave you, no questions asked, if you refer to me as some sort of mammal or other woodland creature in your blog.
My depression had broke like a fever. As suddenly as I realized that I was terrified some time ago, I have just given in to whatever notion I happened upon in my saturnian melancholy. Clarity is very scary.
I had a dream, I really can't remember what night it was but it was close to when I woke up and it was definitely sometime in the past 48 hours, and in this dream I was angry at my mother. Now let me clarify...I, usually, am always in some state of disdain towards my mother. What made it different in the dream is that I was actively expressing it. Dislike for someone can take on all sorts of different dimensions and become more and more complicated...but in the end it all really boils down to a general and all encompassing dislike and distaste for someone or something. The phrase "Fuck Off" most accurately captures my schema with my mother. I don't understand her actions, yet they have become all too predictable. She seems to grow more and more childish with her actions and less and less direct with her aggression. Her ego grows stronger and with it her scope of the world grows dimmer. A paranoia of sorts has fell over her. I guess we all see the world through the eyes we choose to see them with, however there is something basically different with her brand of subjectivity. It's fearful, it's timid, it's contained. Solitude has broken her, and she's afraid of something she can't really make tangible in her own mind. I have sympathy for her and it's really sad cause I wouldn't dream of ever letting her in on it. She'd only use it against me. That's a shitty place to be with your own mother. She's trying to conduct a hostile takeover on my personality, I guess you could say. I grow tired of having to not budge an inch.
To Ashley Sanders, where have you gone? I really wonder if you even exist anymore. Maybe it was all a dream...me sitting alone in my own dark room, me straining to remember the way you felt and looked like in my lap on long busrides home, maybe nothing happened at all. Stranger things have happened and I do question if people ever believe me when I speak of my lost love of you. It was always very private in my memory and could only be something I made up in my mind to comfort me...give me something to hold up as the standard of how Chad Webb loved and lost.
Final Question: I think a great majority of us, wether we admit or not, want some sort of love we've been subjected to in the media (film, song, or written word) and I pose the question to you, "Do you really want a love that can be summarized in a few hours or pages?"
My depression had broke like a fever. As suddenly as I realized that I was terrified some time ago, I have just given in to whatever notion I happened upon in my saturnian melancholy. Clarity is very scary.
I had a dream, I really can't remember what night it was but it was close to when I woke up and it was definitely sometime in the past 48 hours, and in this dream I was angry at my mother. Now let me clarify...I, usually, am always in some state of disdain towards my mother. What made it different in the dream is that I was actively expressing it. Dislike for someone can take on all sorts of different dimensions and become more and more complicated...but in the end it all really boils down to a general and all encompassing dislike and distaste for someone or something. The phrase "Fuck Off" most accurately captures my schema with my mother. I don't understand her actions, yet they have become all too predictable. She seems to grow more and more childish with her actions and less and less direct with her aggression. Her ego grows stronger and with it her scope of the world grows dimmer. A paranoia of sorts has fell over her. I guess we all see the world through the eyes we choose to see them with, however there is something basically different with her brand of subjectivity. It's fearful, it's timid, it's contained. Solitude has broken her, and she's afraid of something she can't really make tangible in her own mind. I have sympathy for her and it's really sad cause I wouldn't dream of ever letting her in on it. She'd only use it against me. That's a shitty place to be with your own mother. She's trying to conduct a hostile takeover on my personality, I guess you could say. I grow tired of having to not budge an inch.
To Ashley Sanders, where have you gone? I really wonder if you even exist anymore. Maybe it was all a dream...me sitting alone in my own dark room, me straining to remember the way you felt and looked like in my lap on long busrides home, maybe nothing happened at all. Stranger things have happened and I do question if people ever believe me when I speak of my lost love of you. It was always very private in my memory and could only be something I made up in my mind to comfort me...give me something to hold up as the standard of how Chad Webb loved and lost.
Final Question: I think a great majority of us, wether we admit or not, want some sort of love we've been subjected to in the media (film, song, or written word) and I pose the question to you, "Do you really want a love that can be summarized in a few hours or pages?"
posted by P.M. Richets at 1:47 AM
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