Click here to read my biased opinion on modern music!
So, I’m going to review all things music on this blog here.
Buying books is immensely comforting. Maybe I won’t read them immediately, but they make me feel so much better whenever I’m sad and blue. Just their presence, it’s like having more to look forward to.
The thing that people don’t understand about depression is that
It is not simply falling down and standing back up again.
Depression is falling off the second-to-last rung of the ladder and deciding whether or not it is worth climbing up the same steps you’ve already climbed a hundred times before.
// I got the reason #2//
Today, I was in Walmart taking refuge from the dust storm and impatiently meandering around the produce section. Maybe it was the fluorescent lighting on dirty white tile floors or the corporate-consumer atmosphere but, a wave of disgust hit me.
A disgust with humanity in general. Frustration, with the people who ruin and destroy the few good things about the world.Thoughts about unfair and broken world we were all born into.Hopelessness, knowing that it will only get worse.
None of us chose to be here. I didn’t want to be apart of it anymore. I didn’t want to be alive right then at that moment. I felt physically sick.
That’s the thing with depression;It just tends to catch you off guard.
Later when I got home and upon further reflection, I seriously questioned my purpose in life.
In the Christian community, this questioned is answered with the same response. “To obey God’s commandments and glorify him as our Creator.”
While these are all important things, I have a hard time believing that this is our one and only purpose in life.
I believe that we each have an ever- changing ,individual and ultimate (goal, purpose, destiny, path) for our lives. And this is the conclusion I came to:
I think the reason that God created us, is the same reason that the artist feels compelled to sit down and take out his brush to paint; or the same need or hunger the writer has to take out his pen and compose a verse.
Inside us is a divine inheritance: the need for creative expression and output.
God doesn’t need us. He does not get lonely or crave companionship. He does not need reassurance that He is God. He is not sustained by glorification or praise. He simply wanted to create something.
He wanted to shape the universe in his hands and place each star accordingly to light up the dark. He wanted to write our lives and breathe life into dust.
He wanted to make something out of nothing.
Bam. Theology.
Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes. She has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.
Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag.She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she finds the book she wants. You see the weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a second hand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow.
She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.
Buy her another cup of coffee.
Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.
It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas and for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry, in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.
She has to give it a shot somehow.
Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.
Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who understand that all things will come to end. That you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.
Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilight series.
If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.
You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype.
You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.
Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.
Dear God,
Please make me a bird so I can fly far, far away.
….or maybe send some cash and a fake I.D. so I can live by myself.
I can’t
Illuminate me.
// Bless thy imperfections.//
“If you were just a little more like _____, then you would be perfect.”
I’m 5’ 4.5” tall. I weigh 122 pounds. I wear a 32A. I am a size 3. I have freckles on my back, shoulders and arms. My jaw is oddly shaped. My face is semi asymmetrical. My hair is limp and thin and brown. It never stays the way I want it to. My nose isn’t cute. My knees grow strangely inward. Sometimes I breakout. Sometimes my lips are chapped. My stomach is not flat. My teeth are crooked. My forehead wrinkles. Dark circles form around my eyes because I never get enough sleep. My hips stick out too far. My eyes are generically brown. My cheeks take up my whole face. I look awful in red lipstick.I have many scars. My eyebrows don’t stay perfectly plucked. I don’t have an ass like J-Lo or breasts like a porn star. I don’t wear much makeup. I don’t do my hair. I don’t strut. I can’t think logically. My voice shakes. I am introverted. I stumble in high heels. I don’t understand much about social situations. I am the most un-photogenic person alive. I can’t dance. I’m anxious. I’m nervous. I’m strange. I’m weird. I’m different.
But,
You’ll find my nose in a book (I buy books like most women buy shoes) or my hands covered in paint. I have a great sense of humor. I sing with all my heart. I create art. I love. I breathe. Actually my nose is kinda cute. I smile like I mean it. I’m honest. I carry myself well. I am mature. I listen to music I love. I’m open minded. The few good friends I have are people that matter to me. I’m going to go far. I’m a dreamer. I’m educated and enlightened. I don’t care what other people think. I like good conversation and witty banter. I care about others. I always smell like jasmine. I am healthy. I am full of wonder. I am a free spirit. I can run a good mile. I appreciate. I feel. I am flesh. I believe in crazy things. I’m beautiful. I’m love. I’m filled with joy. I’m strange. I’m weird. I’m different.
And that is all okay with me.
So fucking deal with it, society.
// Thank God for rubberbands.//
Fitter, Happier : Radiohead
more productive
comfortable
not drinking too much
regular exercise at the gym (3 days a week)
getting on better with your associate employee contemporaries
at ease
eating well (no more microwave dinners and saturated fats)
a patient better driver
a safer car (baby smiling in back seat)
sleeping well (no bad dreams)
no paranoia
careful to all animals (never washing spiders down the plughole)
keep in contact with old friends (enjoy a drink now and then)
will frequently check credit at (moral) bank (hole in wall)
favours for favours
fond but not in love
charity standing orders
on sundays ring road supermarket
(no killing moths or putting boiling water on the ants)
car wash (also on sundays)
no longer afraid of the dark
or midday shadows
nothing so ridiculously teenage and desperate
nothing so childish
at a better pace
slower and more calculated
no chance of escape
now self-employed
concerned (but powerless)
an empowered and informed member of society (pragmatism not idealism)
will not cry in public
less chance of illness
tires that grip in the wet (shot of baby strapped in back seat)
a good memory
still cries at a good film
still kisses with saliva
no longer empty and frantic
like a cat
tied to a stick
that’s driven into
frozen winter shit (the ability to laugh at weakness)
calm
fitter, healthier and more productive
a pig
in a cage
on antibiotics
Damn that kills me.
4/15/12 10:49 PM
I hate this week. I hate it so much.
True. I slept through half of it ,but the rest of it was a world of suck. It’s a vicious and self destructive cycle of headache, sleep, caffeine, lack of sleep, lack of food, headache. I would just kind of like to function like a normal human being for once.
But then again, I’m not so sure.
Vicarious?
Everything seems unreal to me. Like I’m just watching things happen. When am I going to be able to actually experience life? I’m not the protagonist anymore. I’m not even a minor character. I’m just the audience.
This has got to change.
I provide the comic relief to my own story. \ 'And you don't have to be No one's biography They'll try to write you down And hope you go crazy.'
