I haven't posted in a while. I've been busy with school and sickness. All I really want to do lately is sleep. But instead, I'll post here. If you haven't heard Gloomy Sunday by bjork, go download it. It's a really good song.
I still don't have anything to say.
Ok. That's not so good. I'm back and I'm going to try to give some content. I've given the art in, so it's gone and seems to have removed it's blackness from my consciousness, thank goodness. I also recently invested in Scarlet's Walk which should help to brighten my mood a bit. I sent some e-mails to people in japan, which was another thing nagging my conscience. I bought medulla as well, but it's a bit too experimental for my current mental state, I don't think I want to see what it does to my mood. I'm getting that sickness which seems to rear it's head everytime I'm attending school seriously. It just kind of saps my motivation and makes everything seem a thousand times worse than it actually is. I start to use music like drugs. I fill my ears with it, fill my head with it to make things go away, to make things solid again when it seems like everything is spinning. It makes me feel sort of weak to think that I can't make it stop by myself. I shouldn't need to hold onto something else.
That paragraph seems so menacing.
to you it's just another dead fag
For some reason, I feel really connected to this song. I don't think it has anything to do with sex... there's something about the melody and the way it flows, and the degree of closeness. It actually makes me feel like I've lost a friend I spent some crazy day in the city I've never been to on a rainy day with running and spinning who made me feel a bit more alive in a world which seems a little dead with. But I think the connection, that I was able to feel something someone else wanted me to feel, and that assurity of human emotion as a common bond outweighs the sadness in this case. Probably because I did not know him. This all seems in stark contrast to the only quote.
pick out your cloud
I've picked out so many clouds, but it just doesn't matter that you pick them. They move on and they change but they never fade away, they never die. They march on forever until you can't see them anymore. But it's not sad, because it's quite probable that we're just clouds too.