Blast My Eardrums Off
I’ve been heavily dependent on music lately. The accepted notion of ‘coffee’ (of which variations are not so variated if you ask my tongue) has the effect of an alcoholic beverage on me. It makes my planet tilt upside down, it makes my chest heat up---coffee makes me tipsy. My idea of coffee is about a pinch of it with a tablespoon of sugar in a cup of hot water. The world doesn’t seem to agree.
Ergo, coffee cannot be with me when I want to think things out alone.
Food is a nice companion, though. It fills me up with euphoria, various feelings the world is selfish to give. Sugar, spice, everything not necessarily nice. They land in my gullet and convince me that I am not deprived. However, non-deprivation has certain lows. What? Weight gain.
Ergo, food cannot be with me when I want to have a measure of self-confidence and kill frustration.
Drugs seem fine. Nicotine and alcohol may take me away from this craphole for a while. But there’s a problem with the sentence: the ‘a while’ part. Withdrawal syndrome will just make the craphole deeper and before I know it, even drugs couldn’t fly me out.
Ergo, drugs couldn’t give me a measure of permanence and stability.
That’s why I just blast my eardrums off. With my music I can think and concentrate. With my music I become inspired to believe in the impossible. When the people I trust and love betray and eventually leave me, my music will remain. I don’t have to feed it bits of devotion and concern, bits that drain me for the effort. I don’t have to love it or trust it. I don’t have to be there for it. When I’m sick of it all, I just blast my eardrums off. End of story.
Ergo, coffee cannot be with me when I want to think things out alone.
Food is a nice companion, though. It fills me up with euphoria, various feelings the world is selfish to give. Sugar, spice, everything not necessarily nice. They land in my gullet and convince me that I am not deprived. However, non-deprivation has certain lows. What? Weight gain.
Ergo, food cannot be with me when I want to have a measure of self-confidence and kill frustration.
Drugs seem fine. Nicotine and alcohol may take me away from this craphole for a while. But there’s a problem with the sentence: the ‘a while’ part. Withdrawal syndrome will just make the craphole deeper and before I know it, even drugs couldn’t fly me out.
Ergo, drugs couldn’t give me a measure of permanence and stability.
That’s why I just blast my eardrums off. With my music I can think and concentrate. With my music I become inspired to believe in the impossible. When the people I trust and love betray and eventually leave me, my music will remain. I don’t have to feed it bits of devotion and concern, bits that drain me for the effort. I don’t have to love it or trust it. I don’t have to be there for it. When I’m sick of it all, I just blast my eardrums off. End of story.
---
P.S. to me: this post is 40% cliche. hello, you must have something better to say than 'with my music I become inspired to believe in the impossible'. you make me retch. please do something about it, dear, you sound dreadfully pathetic. before you know it you'll be saying something like: Fifi has the best fashion sense ever. my god. save me from the indemnity.
love, myself
posted by Ferretti shoes at
5:46 PM
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