Worship power, you will end up feeling weak and afraid, and you will need ever-more power over others to numb you to your own fear. Worship your intellect, being seen as smart, you will end up feeling stupid, a fraud, always on the verge of being found out. Look, the insidious thing about these forms of worship is not that they’re evil or sinful, it is that they are unconscious, they are default settings, they’re the kind of worship you just gradually slip into day after day, getting more and more selective about what you see and how you measure value without ever being fully aware that that’s what you’re doing. And the so-called ‘real world’ will not discourage you from operating on your default settings, because the so-called real world of men, and money, and power comes merrily along on the fuel of fear and anger and frustration and craving and the worship of self. Our own present culture has harnessed these forces in ways that have yielded extraordinary wealth and comfort and personal freedom—the freedom to all be lords of our own tiny skull-sized kingdoms, alone at the center of all creation.
My alone feels so good, I’ll only have you if you’re sweeter than my solitude.
Never fuck with someone who cries when they’re mad. They’ll stab you 48 times and cry in your stab wounds.
Liking people is stupid all you end up doing is ruining songs you really liked beforehand
The deafening silence makes me nervous. I begin to hear the sound of my own labored breathing burning in my chest leading to twitching hands and downward spiraling thoughts. The closure of the day literally and metaphorically brings the darkness into my life. It’s much easier to forget during the day when I have a smile plastered on my face so tight that I forget how I really am. I attempt to make polite conversation with strangers and enunciate my words slowly hoping not to stutter and stumble over them, not always successful. “I always mess up my words,” I brush it off attempting to change the subject. They have their quick laugh, but I don’t. Not really.
Though I’ve come to realize that the evening is not all I should worry about. My eyes are constantly berated by the minuscule acts of affection that I am not a part of. Mothers wiping food off their child’s cheek, a man in the coffee shop stands behind his wife helping her slip her coat on, or if you closely watch two people in love their hands always seem to find each other. I act like I’m not bothered. I chose to be this way. If I wanted someone then I would make the effort and everything would fall into place. At least that’s what I tell myself.
I live on an overpopulated planet of seven billion yet I can never really escape the feeling of alone. Even when I’m in a crowded room it slowly creeps in unnoticed until I feel like a background character in everyone else’s life story, so I take my pain to paper, turning it into poetry. I can always make my pain sound poetic, but deep down I’ll still know that it wasn’t beautiful like I made it out to be, it just fucking hurt.
The Spectator’s Sport,
Leah Boken (via grimfatale
When people say ‘This is my baby,’ they don’t always mean a baby. Sometimes they mean a dog.
A Somali student, on what has surprised her most about the United States (via 391705
My dream for the 2016 presidential election is not having to choose which human rights I’m feeling like compromising on.
I’m unapologetic not because I’m strong-willed or overconfident, I’m unapologetic because this is it; this is my life. There is nothing I can do, no one I can please. I am a person with a strong sense of being, that’s all.