talking of Michaelangelo.
Saturday, February 27, 2016
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quarantined, day 2 // 1:06 pm
All the windows are open and the sun is coming in.
I need to somehow talk about The Incident. (By that I mean ambulance, hospital, emergency room, all that jazz.)
Saturday, February 20, 2016
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I have no home // 12:22 am
I am just a disappointment. A sadness canker. I am not good enough. What I try for good just brings sadness. So, I have nowhere to turn and I have no home.
My home is only inside me. I can only go inside. Far inside so that I can disappear into me.
Too used to making people happy, not used to this dark, wrongness.
I'm not good enough.
This is toxic.
Thursday, February 11, 2016
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grey skies // 11:28 pm
Blast! Would these damn hormones leave me the fuck alone already.
Finished The Bell Jar. Poignant and spoke to the dark depths of me.
You know, you could choose anything but you can't choose your blood. If you could choose your blood, you could choose a lot of things. You could be free. Free from yourself and what made you.
Not much mood to write, but I was flying past that bridge the other day looking at the beauty that surrounded me and felt so sad that it couldn't... lift me. The vast... still felt like some kind of box, trapping me inside. Am I in that bell jar? Is it hovering over me, threatening me?
She ascended in art, but could not ascend... I feel so sad about it. I feel so sad about it all. It's a melancholy I can't shake off.
"Mad Girl's Love Song"
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
Sylvia Plath