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Ware movies be like that but this one was unique.

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Sometimes I just need a hug.

My creative state is suddenly realized and activated.

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There is a massive amount of things in the world. More than I could ever experience in my lifetime.

Yet through specialization the world has improved overall. Not only that but I can feel the full scope of what a life can be through focusing on anyone thing and doing it well.

But I have to pick one thing or at least one thing at a time. There is time to have it all in one lifetime but feeling fulfillment comes from focusing and noting the progress in what I touch.

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My favorite writing advice ever:

“You think you’re a bad writer? Prove it to yourself”

Suddenly I’m getting practice and getting better.

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Low key figuring out ways to hijack the book sale page on Amazon to redirect traffic toward a torrent download of my book so Amazon doesn’t get any money.

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Went for a walk yesterday morning.

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Background

Why does the reader love the grey brown tint to their photos? What is the significance to the musty smell that oozes from every one of their photographs? These pictures exist on the perpetual rainy day where the wallpaper is torn to reveal the wooden shavings beneath the bright colored cover. A sip of tea or coffee is signified by the stories each stain one the film could tell. The reader loves these windows of light because the page, clear and rich, torn and wise, has been the background for every story read.

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Disconnect

This week I shut down. My lover wanted to take a step that we didn’t have the money for yet. It wasn’t an irresponsible step; it was just something she wanted to start planning for before we got the money. I kind of freaked out I guess. Things don’t work out the way I plan them. It’s hard for me to be happy in the moment and I don’t want to manage my expectations for something that isn’t here yet. I don’t want to be irresponsible by not planning with my partner. I just don’t want to put my whole heart into something that might not happen. Why does this depress me to the point of holding back tears? This is illogical. Why is there such a disconnect between my present self and my future self?

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All Things To Me

There was this new thing where all my favorite characters and stories were recontextualized because I could see all the parallel universes. It was fun till it ended and the world looked different. So different, I can’t quite place what role I first played. Was I dreaming? The old lady in front of me sees the kind hearted trouble maker knowing I would find love on the simplest of days. Yes I saw this reality but it’s not quite true. Was I completely disregarded by those around me in a tragedy against my own desires? The messages on my phone confirm this except for the one that is there. He thanks me as I am the unsung hero that gave his life something resembling air. I can’t find myself in this digital archive so I raise my head to stretch my face. I rescued a child from boredom with this face as she squints out a grin. She sees me as the unmoving mountain that is safety, but really though, which view point am I in? Everyone at once is in their own universe, each with their own perception of me yet I can only have one. If I be all things to all people, and people be all things to me, what stops it from being true? Am I all things to me?

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Not A Poem

This is clearly not poetry since,

Having no rhyme or reason outside of structure is the happening here.

 I let one very enjoyable yell out understanding,

Right when I yelled it would be empty of reciprocated care.

 Does the fact that it meant nothing mean something or,

Right now am I at a crossroads of what makes me human?

 One contradiction of expectations and another a cry for help,

With every breath the words unearth a layer of meaning that need to be found.

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Crap

If you’re crapping and you know it crap your pants.

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Fuck'n Love Yo’Self

This morni’n the bed was wet from cold sweat, or did I piss myself from being overly conscious I’m depressed. I need some phone light from the artist on the beach tellin’ me to love myself implying my life won’t be like mine is. The truth is he wants money and needs me to be an addict to believing my life could be like his. Smile and sell is how to push the product, at least that’s what the manager said when I failed increasing the sales quota. “Don’t worry about it, just love yourself through the process” pushing product for report tomorra. The boss and I didn’t bother to shower, would that increase my standard for pying power? The politician said she can’t have a wife cause the increase in production is correlated to smiles not rights. If that’s true then did parents only want children to get on with theirs since they had no life? What is learned is taught and what’s taught is ignored and what is ignored comes back to say “Here here listen here” cause you shouldn’t listen to that voice of yours. The impossible standards the preacher delivers before he smiles on the late night news for well, I guess it was a great sermon, whatever whatever.  I’m tired and lonely, I love myself. I need to make money, I love myself. Rights I am given are crummy and shallow, I love myself. Belief in the greater magnifies I’m deep but I’m hollow, I love myself. The pai- Fuck you, I love myself. I love you, I love myself.