The only aspect of art that I am certain of is my complete inability to create something on command. No matter how much or how hard one of my best friends urges me to write, if the inspiration is not there, there’s nothing to write about. Fortunately for us, the lives we live are nothing shy of tragic. Boys being the vice that bonds us; more specifically: our terrible taste therein, you’ll soon find we should rarely lack inspiration to vent. I wrote a piece for New Years after hearing everyone bitch and moan about their love lives and shitty relationships and I began to ponder the quote, “It is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all,” and unfortunately, I fall into the latter category as of late. I know love isn’t everything, but it seems like it should be a big part of my life since I’m not much for money or success. But as much as I try to keep my wits about me, there is a part of me (be it penis, brain, or heart) that is almost on the verge of absolute fucking panic. Luckily for me, I have a fallback plan: to be The Crazy Cat Lady-Man. Despite my flagrant animosity towards felines, I’d rather be insane than alone. Perhaps one in the same.
Away with Birds
My New Year’s resolution was going to be giving up coffee, but let’s face it—ain’t gonna’ happen. I’ve been drinking the shit until my world glows and my fingers tingle, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m in a dead-end job where I’m under-worked and over-paid. However, my resume is circulating and it’s a damn good one. My second revelation was to stop falling in love with douche bags, but I’ve decided that’s a character fault and I can’t change that; I love them more than I like the hot stuff, and it takes a self-loathing individual to go for the narcissistic fucks I fall for. What’s sad is how in tune we are with one another—I’m in love with them and so are they. Ergo, I need a change in frequency, a complete shift in phase. This exuded pulse of desperation that sounds remarkably similar to the tick of a biological clock will only go as fast and as far as I allow. Time slows the more you become aware, and aware I shall become. 2012 is the year I learn the difference between love and infatuation. Love shall become habit and infatuation a hobby. I’ll live my life by the famous words of John Waters, “If you go home with somebody and they don't have books, don't fuck 'em!” I’ll acknowledge I’m going to get a lot closer to achieving my goal of learning a new vocabulary word each day (which is going quite mellifluously) from a closet full of classics than I am from my inbox on a personals website. I’ve decided dating on Grindr is a lot like looking for a diamond in a dumpster. Sure it’s possible, but more than likely it’s going to be fake or belong to someone else. This year I’ll acknowledge that “lonely” doesn’t have to equal “sad”, and perhaps I can use this time to better myself through reading and reflection. Which reminds me, I think I drink too much coffee.
My New Year’s resolution was going to be giving up coffee, but let’s face it—ain’t gonna’ happen. I’ve been drinking the shit until my world glows and my fingers tingle, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m in a dead-end job where I’m under-worked and over-paid. However, my resume is circulating and it’s a damn good one. My second revelation was to stop falling in love with douche bags, but I’ve decided that’s a character fault and I can’t change that; I love them more than I like the hot stuff, and it takes a self-loathing individual to go for the narcissistic fucks I fall for. What’s sad is how in tune we are with one another—I’m in love with them and so are they. Ergo, I need a change in frequency, a complete shift in phase. This exuded pulse of desperation that sounds remarkably similar to the tick of a biological clock will only go as fast and as far as I allow. Time slows the more you become aware, and aware I shall become. 2012 is the year I learn the difference between love and infatuation. Love shall become habit and infatuation a hobby. I’ll live my life by the famous words of John Waters, “If you go home with somebody and they don't have books, don't fuck 'em!” I’ll acknowledge I’m going to get a lot closer to achieving my goal of learning a new vocabulary word each day (which is going quite mellifluously) from a closet full of classics than I am from my inbox on a personals website. I’ve decided dating on Grindr is a lot like looking for a diamond in a dumpster. Sure it’s possible, but more than likely it’s going to be fake or belong to someone else. This year I’ll acknowledge that “lonely” doesn’t have to equal “sad”, and perhaps I can use this time to better myself through reading and reflection. Which reminds me, I think I drink too much coffee.
No comments:
Post a Comment