So, it's taken me about 3 hours to listen to Guns N' Roses' Rocket Queen. I, earlier today, got to watch my entire immediate family get murdered in cold blood by post-apocalyptic crazies and consequently skipped all my classes (2/3 by accident), and I have all this work I need to be doing that I just do NOT feel up to right now. Was going to run to the store to buy paper I was supposed to have last week. Didn't do it. It was sunny and pretty today. Too pretty. Hurt my eyes. Want to leave. Can't. And by leave I mean wake up. Or feel. Or do/be/etc. Felt like this last Thursday. Can't keep fracking with my schedule. It's murdersome. Got a good room pick - 5. Will take one of the converted doubles on third floor I think. Hopefully get a good RA too. I feel like my writing, indeed my current sentiment as a whole, is a bad cross of Faulkner/Hemingway/Rorschach (and yes, I mean the Watchmen character...). Apologies. Said I wouldn't use this as a whining post. I lied. Hoping to get an entry going for Athens Bench Mark soon. Need to get it entered by Friday so that it has time to garner some votes. Placing in that (not gonna pretend I would win) would be utterly sick.
I remember as far back as my early childhood feeling a disconnect between mind and body and in recent years that feeling has grown, not between just aspects of self but between self and world. As if I were a spectator, and too often I am just that a person alone sitting watching waiting not a person but yet a being I DO NOT UNDERSTAND these people who go about doing all that is right and expected and interacting oh interactions especially... It is a cosmic chasm of blackest loneliness that when realized I cannot cross, like an illusory bridge painted into the wall of an opposing cliff face - you can only think you can cross until you look down, or try to cross and in all reality I am not sure I ever tried at all. No, I've tried, I've been there and back again so many many times such futile fruitless efforts and the pain is exquisite if you're a masochist and otherwise, excruciating. And if I call you friend, may I call you that, friend, then do not feel slighted or insulted when I do not treat you as all your others do, it's merely that I don't know how anymore without the garish sense that I am overacting very plainly. And if you never had a problem reading modern literature, especially stream of thought, and you didn't skip this paragraph, I apologize for the view you just received into insanity's lonely little mind. It's a dark and scary place, full of bunnies and creepy mice. (or was it mice and creepy bunnies?)
Latest musical favorite: The Birthday Massacre. Check them out. Sample song from their 2007 album: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HzhLj8UMOkE Also, have to love the artists' names.
Also, gotta dig an old friend's band - Exit Mouse. They have a soundcloud and a livejournal. Check them out here: http://exit-mouse.livejournal.com/
(I use the word also far too often. Further apologies.)
Sunday before last was at the International Home & Housewares Show in Chicago. That was totally amazing. Though, by the time I reached the third auditorium, was a bit overloaded on the sensory intake end of things. I'll do a whole 'nother post about that when I have time/drive. Saw a lot of really cool stuff and also sparked some new ideas, did some sketching and whatnot. I think one of those I may actually develop for another contest (don't remember which one at the moment).
To sum up lately though, basically just swinging between workaholicism and being a grand disappointment to everyone, including, though not especially, myself. On days like today, I don't know what I want or need anymore, but I've a suspicion it feels like tears and tastes like blood and ends up just being sweat.
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