in praise of the underground

jesus fucking christ.

for about two years, i was obsessed with blu&exile's album below the heavens. i dont think three days went by before i cycled that album.

now, i'm on spotify and i discover albums upon albums of exile's stuff. on youtube, there's an endless maze of J Dilla, Johnson and Jonson, Fashawn, Blu, and Exile with his hand behind all of it.

Exile's radio remix, good god. and a new b&e album coming out soon.

to the underground players in hip hop, you define the art of the eargasm.

you can damn well be sure i'll be drinking to you the next chance i get.

god, you have no fucking idea how much i love them.

ars poetica

maybe i should start writing poetry and veer away from the prose. that way, it seems less like a catastrofuck when i open my literary mouth.

you know what i love about poetry? reading other people's poetry? i love that when they're in love, or when they're enthralled or heartbroken or any feeling at all, really, that you can see it in your heart. it's not written out for you like a patronizing gift, sure; you'll have to work a little for it. but you get to see that this boy is absolutely head over heels for some girl and he's all like what the fuck, i hate this and fuck fuck you have the prettiest cupid's bow smile i have ever seen in my entire life. 


maybe i write a lot, and through so many mediums, because that kinda shit is important to me. maybe i wanna be the type of person who has things to say about things, overflowing and never ever ever stopping. because you write what you feel, and i wanna feel everything. even if it's shit and angst and about boys who don't deserve it.

SO HEY, FOROUD. i think your tumblr is cool and so's your brain and half of it is resentful captivation of some girl but i like that you're not open at all but that you're open in that extent, about that thing, in that way. it's more than we get from, well, anyone these days, and it's not even half of the real you.

but i digress.

i have too many words everywhere, on facebook, gmail, twitter, blogger. i think too much, maybe. too many opinions and feelings on things. it gets a bit tiring, i know.

i'd rather some histrionic deluge flow through my fingertips than have nothing worth writing about. if you're not expressing, what are you feeling? and how worthwhile of an emotion is that?

conversations

 GA: ROMEO AND JULIET.

AND RIVAL ZOMBIE SLAYING CLANS.

 me:  why not rival zombies.

 GA:  Eh.

It's not a sexy script.

"BRAINNNNNNNNNNNNNZ."

get into writing, kids. you get to have conversations like these.

sitting, waiting, wishing

i know a lot of guys, and girls who don't deserve them. and maybe girls with guys who don't deserve them, and maybe some girls that deserve some guys more than other girls.

but in the end, it doesn't matter, because love and all variations thereof do not operate on a point system. 

it's not fair; it never is. it's messy and fickle and searingly brutal. it takes so much dedication, especially against the irrationality and the gradual lessening of passion. and it fucks you up, god damn. that last one's the kicker. it really fucks you up.

so you know, if you can make it work, then more power to you. maybe you don't deserve him, and you're gonna screw it all up. and maybe she's jealous of the girl who left you, that incredibly smart girl who has a radiant smile and a good relationship with her father and is Going Places. but, idk. it's kind of a shitty world, and maybe you've found someone else  and, you know, i'll be happy for you because it's just not that easy out there. and everyone deserves someone even if. there's still soupy feelings coming in from the other side. THE DUMMY NODE, IF YOU WILL. *nerds out*

or you, i don't have to like you. aaaaand i don't. but everyone deserves happiness.

no matter who it hurts. this is important. everyone deserves happiness.

the kids on the bylines who got caught in the crossfire will just have to grow the fuck up and try to understand that. 

why am i writing so much these days? what's this shit that i'm trying to get out? 

well. hell if i know, darling.

IN OTHER NEWS!
i hung out with midsoc today and it was the happiest i've been all week.
i love sitting there listening to paul talk about strange cotton shirt blends and thomas debating about pokemon cards and eli's face as he encountered a tapioca pearl for the first time. if there was ever a facial manifestation for the term, "--THE FUCK IS THIS?" it would be eli's face. and getting to see evan again, which is the always best thing ever. there is some sort of deep, deep fondness that wells up inside. i think it's the product of my incredibly annoying sentimental heart.

fuck it. you guys are my favorite. <3

don't carry it all

don't take it personal. he was always going to mean more than you.

it's what makes us human, what makes it possible for some poor schmuck to wake up, turn over and quietly, reverently trace the eyelashes of some blonde haired thing.

it's kind of interesting to think about, right? the way you'll never mean anything, really, to some people. the way you might mean everything to someone, one day.


...in other news, i have seriously gotta stop with the stoners/potheads. i better not have some sort of involuntary affinity to them, because that's kinda what it looks like right now

hey you

yeah, you.
you can suck my dick.

SIGH that's not a very nice thing to say. oh well, i'll be unrepentant for for a least a good few hours.

what what

...huh.

how do i put this.

I AM TRYING TO HIT THAT.

just kidding. mostly.