blueprint pimples pop under heavy glass jars
there are so many things wrong with the world and i am one of them. my mere existence poses a threat to those who fail to understand how attachments bring an intense amount of sorrow in our lives. solitude is generally placed into a category where shit, depression, and toddler diarrhea remain constant.
many perceive those who choose life removed from the rest as a tyrant. mentally obtrusive. challenged in some way because they cannot conform to the norm. fascinating because if the table is spun, society tends to be the one that's fucked up. it is fair to claim that society is the one that snores, keeping us "lonely" bastards up. so much shit lodged in those olfactory bulbs that breathing becomes the worst possible form of exercise. no need to track the macros. it's virtually a failed premise from the onslaught.
you see, we are all moral agents in today's society. we decide what we do and when we want to do it. all for us. ourselves. we borrow other people's ears when shit doesn't go right and pour endless excuses. a notion canonical by societal rehearsal due to evolution. biological evolution driven more toward psychological didactics. the glass is already full. they're still pouring. you turn over. they continue to fill that pothole. people rely on others to build some sense of purpose in their lives.
and these are attachments. granular. introspective. attachments.
we can't move forward without the other person. which, mind you, isn't restricted to just their existence, but also their beliefs, responses, etc., relating to you. you are attached because you choose to be. because you are incredibly self-absorbed. i know it's a tough thing to hear. truth is, we're all here with you. everyone is faced with this attachment shit. at least those who live on this earth and consider themselves to be humanly.
it's like the strings on a guitar. people are the neck of the instrument. break one string and everything goes out of tune. so then they run to the shop. expect a quick fix. buy doubles of doubles in each tune. this is your life. replace the void. fill the hole. reliant on the outside to make you sound, seem, feel better. stop replacing strings and let them fall off. you have a god damn neck that holds up that screwed up brain of yours, so use it. just like anything in life, practice makes progress. too many people don't use their head. humiliatingly maladroit. 1-2 chords will sound just fine because only you know how to work them into a wonderful tune.
issue is people want that generic sound; what everyone else sounds like. why? because our snore filled society spoon feeds this crap to us from birth.
the only way to successfully use your head (and navigate through the attachment dysphoria) is to soak up all the shit you see in the world. take it home. filter through the bull. use the seeds. plant those seeds. water twice a week and witness change in yourself. this can only be done by yourself. stop relying on others for direction. make a compass out of those seeds. be the supreme gardener. take that green thumb and strum a harmonious tune entitled, "YOU."
it's hard finding people with this sort of mentality. hence why one would crawl back into the shed. seal the door shut. talk to the butterflies. they understand. they broke free at one point. rearrange the seedy compass to explore a brand new trajectory. it's quite empowering.
elliott has been sitting at the end of the bed staring at me as i wake up. i don't necessarily understand why he insists on freaking the hell out of me. his pupils seem to be the size of grapefruits. perhaps i should turn off the shufflé on my ipad. i hear celine dion causes depression to felines. on a more serious note, maybe he sees something. some foreign piece of information that i cannot render in my current state.
it's an artificial separation. this people vs. me thing. regret to inform we are at a hung jury again. i'd like to share mental membranes, but finding someone to relate to and offer the same services is rather difficult. i feel like i'm repeating myself. yep, i am repeating myself. it's just been on my mind lately. in any case, reading has served beneficial in the last few weeks. podcasts. dream music. etc. anything outside direct human interaction helps quite the battlegrounds.
recovering from an unfortunate catastrophe is quite the process. i find that it gets harder every time. you do so much more when you grow up. your soul goes through a lot. piecing yourself back to medium heat is a delicate and time consuming feat. the books have many things to say and i have been in a stupendous mood of listening. hell, people aren't talking, so got to look at the next best thing.
i suppose the difference is some of us actually try to deduce this attachment thing. we'd prefer our glasses empty. it's a lot cleaner that way. some artifacts remind you of those tough times. odd water droplet outlines resemble scars. we don't mind those. the contra is to have someone fill that glass only to have it stained from outside in. that takes time to clear up. lots of bleach. so much so that your fingertips look like sea anemones.
my shoulder is going to fall off by next tuesday. i asked my coworker to work the knots out and i promised to give him $20. he laughed and said he'd do it for free. then he massaged it for 3 mins, got distracted and walked away. this is why i offered you the money. i know how much people need compensation. no one works for free. i sure as hell don't.
i need to feel like you are sending me energy for me to reintroduce any sort of connection. platonic. acquaintance. or otherwise. the recent attempts have not gone unnoticed. much appreciated. still building from ashes though, so reciprocated patience would be treasured. give it time abs, give it time. burn the lavender and give it time. my eyes are barely lifting to focus. i took some sleeping pills. apparently they sink in after two hours. interesting as the label didn't mention that. fucking sprouts. false advertisement per usual.
also pointless when your best rants come around this time of the day. i could go on, you know fight the urge to slip into a deep slumber. but then what would really happen? my breasts would shrivel up and crack with the melatonin excess in these little capsules. not such a bad thing. hormones might slightly skew, but the outlier would still remain. i'd have my head ::smiles:: oh, and i wouldn't have a left shoulder too. brilliant.
wow, now that's a sight. we'll end on that note.
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