- Gary Numan’s “We’re the Unforgiven” sounds very Reznor-y, which is nice.
- Why is lace called lace? Was the original piece of lace stitched / knitted with someone’s laces? Because, in my mind, that is neither pretty nor fancy. Probably lumpy and a tiny bit dirty. Please let this be true.
- Where’d the Sugababes go? Remember them? Bet you remember Mutya Buena, at least. I read somewhere she went bankrupt, which must be the pits.
- I’ve been getting a lot of calls from random numbers and it’s scaring me. Fuck’s sake; sometimes I can’t even handle calls from people I know and trust, so just stop it, you cunt(s).
- Boots are better than any other type of shoe, I’m pretty sure. APART FROM THE OPEN-TOED / SLING-BACKED ONES UGH YOU CAN’T MIX SANDALS AND CLOGS AND HAVE IT BE A BOOT.
- Yes, I am tired of the ‘patriarchy’ / ‘matriarchy’, everyone is. Almost as tired as I am of discussing it all. We should just let the fucktards die out and do our best to make sure their effects aren’t felt beyond that.
- I’m drinking a type of tea that’s called ‘be happy‘ and I fucking resent that which means I probably haven’t had enough of it. Maybe I should crack the ‘be sleepy’ box so I can nap through this crisis.
- I no longer crave the security that ‘spooning’ provides. There’s something not quite so secure about being jabbed in the backs of my thighs and I’m sure nobody misses eating my hair as I toss and turn and mumble curses at things.
- Kill yourself, Ilene. YOU STUPID ASSHOLE FUUUUCK YOU ARE ONE SELF-IMPORTANT PIECE OF SHIT.
- Why can’t I find the Tamagotchi movie anywhere? Excuse me, but my search terms are tight-as-fuck, so c’mon, let’s go, what gives?
- I wonder how my brother’s going.
- Filling my life with cute things has not made things easier. Just slightly cuter, that’s all. WHAT DO YA KNOW.
- I once scared someone away by spouting “homeless drunk conspiracy theories”. Fuck it, actually, it wasn’t just once. I think it’s a useful gauge of quite a few things – namely a sense of humour, ability to discuss things that don’t make sense, how judgmental someone is… things like that. AND IT’S MORE FUN THAN FINGER PAINTS WHICH ARE LACED WITH MAGNETISED HEAVY METALS SO ALL WE WANT TO DO IS TOUCH ON OUR PHONES AND LAPPYTAPPIES OMG WE’RE ALL PART OF THE BIG MACHINE OH WELL AT LEAST IT MAKES ME BETTER AT FIGHTING IN THE STREET OVER THINGS IN PAPER BAGS LIKE BOOZE AND PASTRIES WHICH AREN’T BAD FOR ME AT ALL SO DO YOU STILL WANNA KNOW WHAT I’M WEARING BECAUSE SO DO I OH GOD DO I EVER.
Look here, lack of censorship is more important than proper resolution today. Because.
- I always assumed Justin Roiland (Rick and Morty) could burp on command, but he can’t. I still remember discovering I could swallow air and burp it up again… I remember thinking, “fuck Sports Day, but this is still the best day ever.”
- I just realised I have two articles open right now: ‘The Gay Men who Have Sex with Women‘ (Broadly) and ‘Inside the Group of Straight Men who are Swearing off Women‘ (Vice).
- I had to tie two teabags together because the steeping tab / dunking cord / dip-string THING snapped off one of them. The surviving piece of paper said “be gentle with me, I ‘brews’ easily!” because Healtheries thinks they’re hilarious. Health-arious. Yup, fine. But let’s all take a second to think about, y’know, testicles. Like how it’s horrible that some have to deal with having such a fragile appendage on the outside of their bodies, just hanging off the front like that. Like how breasts do, but at least people like how cleavage looks. OK I’m done thinking about it now. AND I’M DONE FEELING BAD FOR MEN LOL ESPECIALLY THE ‘WHITE’ ONES LIKE WTF CHECK YOUR PRIVILEGE & SHIT LOL YEH AMIRITE?
- I wonder what animal I’d be if given the chance to switch (you watched / read Animorphs, too, right?). Would I climb? Swim? Fly? Would I be conscious enough to care? Could I switch back or not? WOULD I BE CONSCIOUS ENOUGH TO CARE, THOUGH?
- I really should just shut the fuck up forever. Except shutting the fuck up hurts, but maybe I deserve to be hurt. Forever. Oh, god. Just shut the fuck up.
- The two-bag tea just burned my lip. fuckshitsucks.
- I once opened up a fortune cookie for it to tell me: You would make a good lawyer for no detail escapes your attention. I stuck it on a place on a desk that would hopefully be noticed by an eye for detail, because I am at least as funny as Healtheries.
- My flatmate’s cat has taken to placing his paws on my shoulder(s) as a play for attention, and he also does that paw-on-knee thing that I can’t help but anthromorphise. AWWW WHO’S A GOOD BOY. YOU’RE A GOOD BOY, VICTOR. AND WE ARE BROS.
- It’s just no good when stuff looks like it should glow in the dark, then doesn’t. All wrong. Back-ass-wards. It’s supposed to look all innocuous and then you turn the lights off and BAM you’re left wondering how you didn’t notice this would happen and YAY. But, no. Sad.
- I am deathly afraid of pregnancy, both in myself and others. Almost on cue, a man walked past my window with a sleeping child and it was cute and everything but I can’t deal with these thoughts and humans are humans and feelings are weird and my body is stupid.
- Vacuuming is an OK chore, but bed-making can just get out.
- Why do people feel ashamed of what they like? People are always gonna give you shit, so go on ahead and enjoy Macklemore / haggis / getting pissed on / sniffing marker pens / rappin’ for Jesus if you want to. Take THAT, society…?
- It’s a tiny bit painful to see someone play with drumsticks that don’t match, but such is life.
- The more that your mental instability looks like physical suffering, the more sympathy you’ll get. I wish this wasn’t true, and maybe one day it won’t be.
- Any more about “cultural appropriation” and I’m gonna burst in an explosion of disgust and pus and annoyance. There are no true originals anymore, only racist gits who tell ‘white’ people they can’t do anything based on another culture (what is ‘white’ anyway? There’s so many types of ‘white’ that I don’t know where to begin, so I won’t). Halloween’s coming up; don’t make me fight you.
- There’s no way I’d be able to keep a record of all the books I’ve read ever, but I think it’s nice that some people keep a copy of each book they’ve read. I’m not sure that’d be feasible for me, unless it was a Kindle / tablet type-o’-dealio.
- Why is it that I look bigger when I’m naked? Is my brain doing the fun-house mirrors thing again? Fuck knows. Hurry up and get dressed.
- I used to intentionally slurp and burble water during exams just so I could see who looked up. I love stoners so much, so, so, much.
- What’s the point in calling anyone stupid? The point is to hurt them… isn’t it? I should never do it again. Tolerating it is fine though, because you can feel good about how the other person just lost their cool by calling you stupid. Like if someone hits first, they lost the verbal round prior. Or if someone talks about how Hitler had a good point, they’re most likely not anyone’s sensei.
- Isn’t it fun that RuPaul’s Drag Race exists? Now, if only they could all get along… although that may spoil the entire premise. Fuck it, RuPaul’s awesome.
- What I like most about hip-hop is all the sampling. Not only because one artist can expose their fans to the other one’s music, but it’s also a dearly sweet and adorable way of showing that one artist was not only once but still a fan of the other, like you may be. I guess that’s what I enjoy about music in general. And, zooming out, art as well. AND LIFE WOAH WOAH LIFE AND THINKING ABOUT IT AND THINGS AND JUNK AND SHIT AND STUFF.
- It’s not actually that funny when someone asks what you’re doing, so you say “stuff.” and they say “hahah quit messin with me” and you reply “no, I was just done with typing the word “stuff” because I got distracted by you and forgot the word I originally meant to use.”
- To which they reply: “hahah random” and you drop your phone and decide not to waste your time with that shit right now but they’ll call later and get all shitty you didn’t pick up but you’re too busy tripping over yourself and how you may have just sounded and blah blah blah how many drinks did I chill? Anything cold enough yet? I’ma get one.
- Should I get fat again just to prove to everyone that I once was? Because nobody believes me. Wait. Did I just ask myself (and you, by proxy, you rather attractive proxy, you) if I should mess with my own body just to prove a point to people I’m making up in my head? God. I’m probably just hungry.
- I just looked back during one of the many mini-spellchecks that invade my thinking and therefore general output and saw that “mes” wasn’t underlined. So, I thought, “what the fuck that does that mean” and looked up “mes” just to find: A manufacturing execution system (MES) is a control system for managing and monitoring work-in-process on a factory floor. An MES keeps track of all manufacturing information in real time, receiving up-to-the-minute data from robots, machine monitors and employees.
I appreciate the robot / factory / machine / productivity references, but that’s not common enough to let slip. This is only intensifying my obsession, here. Aw.
- I heard a narrator of a documentary say something about how a certain artist’s creative pace slowed somewhat due to their becoming a father. I’m laughing my guts out, thinking how that person helped create a human and how that’s actually really creative and sorry but that’s dumb to say.
- Why is it that a lot of so-called happy music seems to infuriate a lot of people and so-called sad music does the reverse? Should someone tell the children this is the case? With any luck, they might tell us why, right? They’re the future, they should know. Yeah? Is it because we don’t like doing what we’re told? Urrrgh.
- I wonder what it’d take for me to make a cat-o’nine-tails for myself. Excuse me a sec.
- I wonder how many dead microphones there would be if they could smell the breath of the person nearest. Admittedly, I think I would’ve killed at least 3 – 5? Hard to know for sure.
- Is it true that Mike Patton did a shit into Axl Rose’s hairdryer, once upon a time? It sounds like a fairy tale that I wanna illustrate. Because that’s funny as hell.
- It’d be nice if Layne Staley was still alive. At least Alice in Chains still lives.
- You’re an idiot, Ilene. Never forget.
- I should make my art in more ways that aren’t temporary.
- The thing about taking painkillers and antibiotics simultaneously is that the condition(s) you’re taking them for sometimes weakens your immune system in a way that the meds can’t keep up with. A piercing I got over three weeks ago is still infected in a way that makes me look cartoonish. I look like I’ve had bad filler injections. It’s so super shit. But it’s made me quiet in a way that I’m curious about. Sure, it’s depressing to be less expressive than you’d like, but I’m introspective anyway and sometimes it’s good for me to shut up and be alone with myself and focus on getting better. As limited as it is, the medications help, I suppose. But it’s still embarrassing as shit and I haven’t been leaving the house much.
- A few terms I’ve been hearing that I don’t really like for no discernible reason: “fusion cuisine”, “stunned mullet”, “clientele” (but only when someone pronounces it ‘klee-on-tell’, ugh, it just shits me), “roadside assistance”, “so close, yet so far”.
- Will coffee cure my omelette-burps or only make a bad situation worse? Because I’ve had more than enough of that damned tea for now.
Maybe I should wait a day or two, not just fifteen minutes after a dispassionate conversation, but I’m throwing my toys because it’s over now. It’s over, and I was the one who decided it should be so.
I spent last night thinking about how people stay with people because they’re convinced that nobody else will accept their flaws & whatnot.
Oh, what a terrible waste of joie de vivre! What a way to treat yourself and someone else! How confining!
What a situation I was in.
Of course, things were very lovely in the beginning. The giggling and the cute stuff. The way he’d let me trace words on his back for him to guess. The way he’d pretend the end of my braid was a paintbrush on my face. The squealing and tickle-fights. Arms over shoulders and around the small of my back. So much time and energy for each other; where did I keep all of that when I was alone?
There’s nothing I can really blame him for and there’s no definitive point from where everything went downhill, so this might just be me throwing out the baby with the bathwater. Maybe I killed another thing just because it was imperfect. Am I a murderer of fledgling hopes? Or did I just want something different, something fairer and more conducive to growth and understanding?
Either way, I’m back at square one, cross-legged, tracing lines in the dust. Not sad, just unsettled. Not annoyed, just resolute. Spurred to action by an ever-widening emptiness and loneliness in viscera, but bolted to the spot by fear and apprehension and goodness knows what else. There’s nothing anyone can do with that. I am solitary. Solitaire.
Ughhh. Fuck’s sake.
I’m going to go eat something. An empty stomach can’t help a broken brain try and make sense of itself, after all.