I’m both feet deep into a bottle of mediocre red wine. I just have to break this hibernation. Crawl out of the lazy bear cave. Nothing has been sounding right lately. I try and write something, and it sounds forced, like I’m trying way too hard to be some skewed idealized version of myself. Like some asshole blogging Zoey Deschanel, with dark blunt bangs and mary jane heels, blinking my vacant doe eyes way too fucking much, trying to be so stomach-churningly cute.
You know I want a cleansing pure psyche reunion when I start blasting Pearl Jam’s “Release”. Even that sounds contrived, but I really do die for that fucking song. Any song that says “rocking horse of time” I’m of course going to obsess over for twenty plus years. Mainly this is just some misguided pathetic writing exercise I’m forcing upon myself like some shitty high school English pupil. Just keep writing. Don’t stop. Just write. “I wait up in the dark for you to speak to me.” God that lyric takes me back to weepy teenage nights clutching my parents’ smuggled cordless phone into my room, my heart ripping for that ‘him’ to call me. Moving on to “Kinda I Want To” off of NIN’s Pretty Hate Machine. I really have to stop romanticizing my teen years through 90’s music but I just can’t stop myself. “And I know it’s not the right thing and I know it’s not the good thing but kinda I want to.” Way to sum up the illogical human want right there with a dirty crawling dungeon thump.
So I’m resurrecting myself from my blogging hiatus. I’m going to post things I should probably just keep to myself. Ramblings best left to sorry drunks in seedy hometown dive bars. Even unicorns long to breathe fire every once in a while.