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Note to self.

God dropped A Kid named Cudi when he was 24. There's still time.

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this is fantastic now children in Puerto Rico wont be able to receive the education they deserve thanks to their messed up government

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It wouldn’t be Liverpool if they didn’t break your hear in the most nonsensical way possible. They always give you hope, though, and that can’t be understated. Most clubs wish they were as fun and good as our Reds. The first 30 minutes were excellent show of everything this team can offer. Then Sergio Ramos put Mo Salah in the armbar and ruined the day. He may not have intended to hurt him, but he could’ve got out of that position if he really didn’t want to mess up Salah’s shoulder. If he misses the world cup off this shit, I’ll be so sad.

After that it was gonna take a miracle and we just couldn’t pull it off. Gave everything and that’s all you can really ask for. More sad than angry at Karius. Worked his entire life to play in games like these and now his Liverpool career is probably over after that. I still don’t Real Madrid are very good, but they have great players and some sort of voodoo that makes the opposition do dumb shit in their presence. If you ever needed proof that the one percent always wins, look no further than Madrid.

Losing sucks, but this team wasn’t supposed to get this far in the first place. No one should doubt Liverpool as a group for a long time. Dejan Lovren outplayed Ronaldo in a final. That happened. Sadio Mane tried to drag this team over the line and got admirably close to doing so. We’ll be better next season. The future is still bright. Next season should be fun. There’s plenty reason to hope.

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There’s a pleasance in being so irrelevant

The browser tells me pleasance isn’t a word, but I like how it sounds so I’m gonna keep using it. It also claims that most of these contractions are spelled wrong but they’re not, so I think the algorithm is just bugging. *Donald Glover voice* This is America, so I’ll just invent my own reality and live peacefully. But back to the point. I gain some comfort knowing that no one else will ever read this. I just read this verge piece about Snapchat’s welcoming demise, and I agreed with a lot of the points the writer made. The best and worst thing about the internet is its performative closeness. We’re all in the same couple of buckets, bleating about out daily lives and being exploited by the companies who see us as a collection of data points, not as humans. Shit gets suffocating quick.

I think this is why I prefer modern tumblr more than the popping version a few years back. I get to confess my heart without having to break to the person(s) who would really feel responsible for my broke-ass brain. I’d like to have friends one day, but talking to myself was always easier than talking to another face. (My biggest issue in hindsight.) The only dickhead who can judge me from this void is myself. It’s just myself, and the world keeps spinning. I wonder if that sense of intimacy is why Frank Ocean still sends signals out from here. It’d makes sense, considering how songs give us the feeling that, at least for the duration of the songs, Frank is telling us his deepest thoughts in whispertones. Whispertones is also not a word, but it also sounds cool. Like a Bjork album or some shit. Okay I’m rambling now. It’s getting late. I’m gonna go play God of War and knock out. I love you. Peace

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I like the way Michelle Wolf thinks. 😄

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Wrote This a Cpl Weeks Ago, That’s Why the Untimely Joke is There.

I’m not sure of many things in life, but this is one truth I will not waver on. More than love, success, or pictures of cute dogs, our brains love nothing more than a routine. Whether that routine is healthy or deeply self-destructive doesn’t seem to matter much. It’s the only way to explain how we got here. I’ve known I have depression for a couple of years now. In hindsight, it’s been there since childhood, when the notion of leaving the house to hang out with the well-meaning neighborhood kids filled me with an instinctual dread that made my heartbeat race, my voice quiver, my knees buckle. Anyone who deals with or has dealt with mental illness knows that these issues are never erased, merely controlled. But control is a hard thing to obtain. Sometimes you just wake up feeling like you’re waist-deep in tar, with an unstoppable drone bouncing around your head repeatedly telling you that having hopes or dreams is, was, always will be worthless. There’s no special reason for me to have been so particularly miserable lately but there I was, unable to leave my bedroom until the sun nearly set on Sunday because I had convinced myself that what awaited me at the bottom of the stairs, sitting patiently in the living room, would destroy my way of life forever. Maybe this would be the day Mom calls me out for my failure to launch - shoutout Matthew Mcconaughey. Maybe this would be the day someone noticed that doing nothing to better myself for years might be emblematic of a deeper problem that hasn’t been dealt with properly. None of this happened, of course. But the feelings of overwhelming pressure and fear were as real as the laptop I’m typing this on. If there is anything good about hitting rock bottom enough times, it’s that you figure out how to fight against a little more each time.

I have been sick of this for the longest, but now I’m trying to do something about it. I need to make myself try more often. Invent a new routine. Despite all evidence that making a career out of covering any aspect of pop culture is becoming a financially unstable boondoggle, I would like to be a professional writer at some point. Let’s see if this “put good energy out into the universe” shit actually has some merit. If Sean Penn can convince himself that he is some wondrous writer whose words demand discussion, and consequently construe that compelling confidence into a publicized publishing deal, then why can’t I?  I can overly use alliteration and use random big words out of context just as well as he can. Wish me luck.

(lol no one’s gonna read this.)

(on the chance that someone does read this, here is a picture of a cute dog as a reward for your time. Thanks for the time.)

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John Harris

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It's so hard tho

Reject the notion that there isn’t enough room for us all to grow

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Thom’s voice makes me so happy to be sad all the time

red wine and sleeping pills help me get back to your arms cheap sex and sad films help me get where i belong

i think you’re crazy, maybe

stop sending letters letters always get burned it’s not like the movies they fed us on little white lies

i think you’re crazy, maybe i will see you in the next life

beautiful angel pulled apart at birth limbless and helpless i can’t even recognize you

i think you’re crazy, maybe i will see you in the next life

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Daily Activities, Watercolour and pencil.

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Tyler the trap rapper shouldn't really work, but this shit bangs. He’s still such an underrated lyricist, the flow on here is crazy. The first verse reminds me of Valee a little bit. The line about OF being dead isn’t surprising, but still makes me sad. It’s all good though, Tyler’s music is multitudes better now. Honestly think Kendrick and Frank Ocean are the only hip-hop artists working at this level right now. He even manages to make dressing like a prepubescent white grandpa look hot. im done now bye.

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Kana Tanaka - Daydreaming bubble, 1998

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Gross