Kissing The Lipless
Garden State.
With lives like these, who needs dying?
I've been so unproductive lately. Time wastes faster than the regret that sets in afterward. My days feel numbered. I assume the logic my brain uses is since I'm not doing anything productive, why continue breathing? I need a short-term goal to fill my time. Yep. That sounds good. And no, I haven't been reading any motivational self-help books. I'm just worried with the fact that I can't remember the last thing I felt satisfied about achieving. Especially since someone told me that eating one large pizza alone doesn't count as being 'productive'.Off the top of my head, a list of things I want to do before the end of the year:
1) Be able to write with my left hand.
2) Learn enough Tamil to carry out conversations which make sense.
3) Figure out how to speak in an Australian accent.
4) Climb a wall.
No joke.
Closed Doors
'Love of mine, someday you will die, but I'll be close behind. I'll follow you into the dark.'Death has its perks. Firstly, well, you're dead. You don't have to bother your mind with the petty nuances that we, the living, get bombarded with every day. It may have something to do with you being dead and losing the ability to think, but it's a fair trade I'd say.
Secondly, you're one step closer to Heaven. Or Hell. The latter isn't really a perk, but for the sake of this argument, let's just assume you've been a nice little human while you were alive. We're told that heaven is the place to be, the eternal party in the sky. Seventh Heaven. It even sounds like a club.
I'm a little confused. My mind is so disjointed. I was supposed to tie this all in with a grand, emotional third point about how people only remember you once you're dead, but I realised halfway through writing this that it's not a perk when you can't even enjoy it. We're so stubborn. To me, post-humous recognition is an insult. A farce, an insincere afterthought merely capitalising on a person's passing. It's a shame really.
I'm unsure about dying. It's not something you prepare for, is it? The fragility and balance of everything somehow possesses me to think that it's all a matter of time before everything goes awry.
I think I'll appreciate my boredom a little more from now on.
Fear is relative
I have an obscene fear of snails. The slime, the translucent trail it leaves as it pointlessly squirms along at that unbearably slow pace. They freak me out. Oh, and don't forget the goosebumps I feel when I unintentionally crush them under my foot. I don't know where this came from. They're just so snaily.
Days Like Masquerades
“Hey you, this is me.
The idealist inside that holds your love on a string,wound and tied like kites to all your hopes and dreams. What a tangled mess that they’ve turned out to be. Take a breath, and ask yourself what matters.”
-The Academy Is...
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