Archive for the ‘Lows’ Category
Bismark, Napoleon, Lenin, Lukacs
My papers are due tomorrow, and while I know I’ll pull them through, the quantity of sleep I’m going to get tonight is questionable. Instead of trying to maximize that amount during my break today by reading, I sat at a cafe and wrote this:
Monsters Under the Bed
It’s 4 AM and I’m the closest to being sad that I’ve been in a while. I feel like I’m teetering on the edge of some stupid cliff and I dont even know if it’s bad down there or if I WANT to fall and I can’t even remember what’s up here and fuck it all why not just jump?
I want so badly to believe in love but there’s just so much more heartbreak out there than lasting happiness and I want to open myself up so that I can at lest throw my name into that hat to be one of the lucky ones but I’m so afraid to be dissappointed I dont even want to try. And you know, it’s not FAIR that I’m half a cynic, because I’ve never had a CHANCE and it’s these stupid stories and this stupid world that did it to me.
I want to believe so badly. I want to believe so badly. I want so badly to no longer have to be afraid.
Really Done With Cereal
Remember the “Do it”?
Remember how it I was being annoyingly cryptic about it?
Well, I’m ready to spill now. And it’s not happy.
For My Father’s Mother.
Death; its the kind of thing I know happens, because the world is too cruel a place for it to not, even if I’ve never truly encountered any of the cruelties firsthand. It’s the kind of thing I’d just always expected to happen to someone else, so when the victims spoke of it, or wrote about it, all I felt was a sort of second-hand grief that faded away with the next thought. I never expected to be immune; I’m not that naive, and yet at the same time I never actually expected to be exposed to it.
Morning Sadness
Somehow this entry got lost. I woke up, I sat here and wrote it as an email draft like I do, and I never posted it. So here it is. I think this was written A week ago: Jan 21-09.
In the dregs of the early morning I wake up, sad. I lay there, wishing that I didn’t have to get up, wishing that I didn’t have to continue getting up this early every day for a semester, wishing that somehow life could be different, wishing that someday, things will be the same.
In the Fastpaced, Technological
world of Japan, I find myself lolling about the house, glued to a xanga site I’d already read twice, playing by myself with a deck of cards. And I wonder, just as I have wondered multiple times every day since the 18th–should I have gone back? I mean, what really is the difference between wasting away here and doing it back in the US, in the comfort of my own home, my own room. Back in the US, where if bored, I can hop in my car and drive to one of the 10 billion Starbucks in the neighborhood or call up my friends to hang out? What really am I looking for, here, a thousand miles away from home?
This is my last summer as a kid, and probably my friends and my last (and only) summer together, do I really want to spend it here? Why, WHY did I tell my dad I’ll stay? Really, it was a split second decision, the kind you didn’t really make, the kind you were forced to make on the spot (sorta), the kind you instantly wonder if you’ll regret afterwards. And so far, I’m regretting it. When can I go home? This is not my home, these people are not my family, the words I hear people use on the streets is not my mother language. This is not my country.
I want to go home.
If You Took Everything That My Life Has Ever Been
and put it through a blender, you might have some idea of where I am now.
I am so damn tied down. I look at my life, and I have nothing. I couldn’t survive a day out on the streets; if I didn’t get raped and mugged first, I’d be laying dead in some gutter somewhere. I’ve got nothing. Brand spanking nothing. I’m a dependent. Yeah, I’ll admit it. I’ll say it again:
I’m a fucking dependant
