So excited to start my writing position !!!!!!!!
And my boyfriend’s birthday is coming up !!!!
And Kendrick Lamar’s album (which I am currently blasting) is 🔥🔥🔥 !!!!!
Coffee makes me feel like all is right in the world.
That is all.
paint with knives
swim in infinite skies
and the stars will lean down
just to kiss your eyes
I wake up to words ending in -less. Like: meaningless, aimless. It’s just another episode of Rick and Morty all over again where the aliens have taken over the world and they’re left to escape into another dimension where nothing matters, nobody chooses to live, and we all die anyways. Now come watch some TV.
Starting to realize that I’m only ever transferring my stream of consciousness from one place to another. So I wake up and it’s my Notes, and then I sidle on into Word, and then I’m back to scribbling on you, WordPress. What is this? A journal? Maybe. Probably. I don’t really know. ‘Why don’t you just get a journal?’ my friend asked. Yeah, well, I have a journal. More than one journal. If we’re talking number of existing collected journals, I’ve got somewhere around, oh, fifty?
Seven years into one of my best friendships I said something about collecting journals. She responded, no, you don’t, you don’t collect journals. Except that I do and all my notebooks are heavy with scrawls and stories and childish arrays of emotion.
A swarm of thoughts, a hive of nightmares.
Pen and ink sketch from when I was restless in the office. I’d oft sidle my way into the Creatives room at my first internship. (Speaking of which, I got the writing position!)
Backwards and forwards but no direction feels true / I know i can feel you cry when I’m / High above those clouds / But I must go chase this stream of mind
It’s 1 in the morning. I feel an inexplicably wild desire to photograph the world. The closest I can get to explaining it is via a tiny purple monster inside of me that’s smashing all the imaginary cameras in my heart, bellowing on about viajar, como yo quiero tomar los fotos en un otro lugar.
That sort of thing.
Creative obsessions are kind of awesome but torturous. It is both tiring and invigorating to pour every ounce of your all into furthering this abstraction/concept/thing and not being able to contemplate or do anything aside from it. Then you’re onto the next. Or not. Sometimes you have creative lulls where you just want to punch your way out of the creative rut.
I’ll paint something Ophelia-esque. She’ll be surrounded in a bed of roses that look no different from the rest; they’ll be beautiful, but meaningless.
In class we learned the three types of gazes: the burlesque gaze, the male gaze, and the medical gaze.
