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Some WordsLife is not at all what you might think it to be
A simple tale where each thing has its history
It's much more than its scuffle and anything goes
Both evil and good, subject to the same laws.
Each hour has its color and forever gives place
Leaving less than yon bird of itself a trace.
In vain does memory attempt to store away
The scent of its colors in a single bouquet
Memory can but shift cold ashes around
When the depths of time it endeavors to sound.
Never think that you may be allowed, at the end,
To say to yourself, "I am of myself the friend,"
Of make with yourself a last reconciliation.
You will remain the victim of your hesitation
You will forget today before tomorrow is here
And disavow yourself while much still is far from clear.
The defunct days will offer you their images
Only so that you may read of former outrages
And the days to come will mar with their complaints
The splendor that in your honor dejected evening paints.
Wishing to collect in your heart the feelings
Scattered in the meadows of misfortune's hard dealings
You will be the shepherd whose dog has run away
You will know even less whence comes your dismay
Than you know the hour your boredom first saw the light.
Weary of seeking day you will relish in the night
In night's dim orchards you will find some rest
The counsels of the trees of night are best
Better than those of the tree knowledge, which corrupts us at birth
And which you allowed to flourish in the accursed earth.
When your most arduous labors grow pale as death
And you begin to inhale autumn's chilly breath
Winter will come soon to batter with his mace
Your precious moments, scattering them all over the place.
You will always be having to get up from your chairs
To move on to other heartbreaks, be caught in other snares.
The seasons will revolve on their scented course
Solar or devastated you will perforce
Be perfumed at their tepid passing, and not know
Whether their fragrance brings you joy or woe.
At the moment when your life becomes a total shambles
You will have to resume your hopeless rambles
You have left everything behind and you still are eligible
And all alone, as the gulf becomes unbridgeable
You will have to earn your daily bread
Although you feel you'd be better off dead.
They'll hurt you, and you'd like to put up some resistance
Because you know that your very existence
Depends on others as unworthy of you
As you are of God, and when it's time to review
Your wrongs, you will feel no pain, they will seem a joke
For you will have ceased to suffer under their yoke.
Whether you pass through fields, towns or across the sea
You will always retain your melancholy
And look after it; you will have to think of your career
Not live it, as in a game where the best player
Is he who forgets himself, and cannot say
What spurs him on, and makes him win the day.
When weary henceforth of wishing to gaze
At the sinuous path of your spread-out days
You return to the place where your stables used to tower
You will find nothing left but some fetid manure
Your steeds beneath other horsemen will have fled
To autumn's far country, all rusted and red.
Like an ardent rose in the September sun
You will feel the flesh sag from your limbs, one by one,
Less of you than of a pruned rosebush will remain,
That spring lies in wait fr, to clothe once again.
If you wish to love you won't know whom to choose
There are none whose love you' be sorry to lose
Not to love at all would be the better part
Lest another seize and confiscate your heart.
When evening descends on your deserted routes
You won't be afraid and they will say, "What boots
It to worry and fret? To rail at my luck?
Since time my actions like an apple will pluck."
You would like of yourself to curtail certain features
That you dislike, making allowances for this creature,
Giving that other one a chance to show his fettle,
Confining yet another behind bars of metal:
That rebel will soon become an armed titan.
Then let yourself love all that you take delight in
Accept yourself whole, accept the heritage
That shaped you and is passed on from age to age
Down to your entity. Remain mysterious;
Rather than be pure, accept yourself as numerous.
That wave of heredity will not be denied:
Best, then, on a lover's silken breast to abide
And be wafted by her to Nirvana's blue shoals
Where the self is abolished and renounces its goals.
In you all things must live and procreate
Forget about the harvest and not the reaper
And of your domain another is the keeper.
When you see lapsed dreams that childhood invents
Salute you adolescence and fold their tents
Virginal, tall and slim beside the jasmine tree
An adorable girl is plaiting tenderly
The bouquet of love, which will stick in your memory
As the final vision and the final story.
Henceforth you will burn with lascivious fire
Accursed passion will strum its lyre
At the charming crossroads where day is on the wane
As the curve of a hill dissolves in a pain.
The tacit beauty of the sacred plateau
Will be spoiled for you and you will never know
Henceforth the peace a pious heart bestows
To the soul its gentle sister in whom echoes;
Anxiety will have called everything into question
And you will be tempted to the wildest actions.
Then let all fade at the edge of our days!
No God emerges to dream our destinies .
The days depart, only boredom does not retreat
It's like a path that flies beneath one's feet
Whose horizon shifts while as we trudge
The dust and mud stick to us and do not budge.
In vain do we speak, provoke actions or think,
We are prisoners of the world's demented sink.
The soft enchantments of our years of innocence
Are harvested by accredited experience
Our fondest memories soon turn to poison
And only oblivion remains in season.
When, beside a window, one feels evening prevail
Who is there who can receive its slanting veil
And not regret day that bore it on its stream
Whether day was joy or under evil's regime
Drawing us to the one and deploring the other
Regretting the departure of all our brothers
And all that made the day, including its stains.
Whoever you may be O man who complains
Not at your destiny, can you then doubt,
When the moment arrives for you to stretch out,
That remorse, a stinking jackal with subtle nose,
Will come at the end to devour your repose?
. . . Something gentle and something sad eftsoons
In the flanks of our pale and realistic noons
Holds with our soul a discourse without end
The curtain rises on the afternoon wind
Day sheds its leaves and now will soon be gone
And already my adulthood seems to mourn
Beside the reddish sunsets of the hollow vase
As gently it starts to deepen and slowly to increase.
Translated from the French of Arthur Cravan
had a few weird dreams last night but one stuck out liek a turd in the punch bowl. i was with mr.ingoglia (my old trumpet instructor) and we were about to perform in front of these girls i knew from the high school. we started i played the first line and he began playing his part and then this girl i used to have feelings for called me over and started talking to me. of course i got distracted and ingoglia kept on playing and then he stopped and i started freaking out because i missed all my parts and i ran up the auditorium stairs to the upper floors and started cursing and crying and he followed me to try to calm me down. i went into a room up there and it randomly was like i guess a little shop with snacks and food and things and i just sat on the floor and cried.. and while that happened i looked up and missy elliot was standing right in front of me smiling and she gave me a hug and i complimented the younger boy she was with in a wheel chair on his hat.. then i woke up.
scream at me
no one has the right to touch my mail
open my envelopes
so when it happens
i will get fucking angry
tell me to get a job
tell me to move out
tell me all this nonsense that i already know
I know i have a lot of things
they are all over the house
in different rooms
but would you rather me have a pile of shit
in the middle of the living room?
i didn’t think so
i offered to buy a storage unit for my stuff
but you told me not to
offered to put it in the attic
to put it outside in the shed
stop acting like a curious 3 year old
and don’t touch things that aren’t yours
and start making some sense
i want to be sad again
to the point that i want to go
back to the ward for inspiration
but of course
love makes you do funny things.
cliche but oh so true.
i’ve loved 3 girls, in the sense that they shared the same feeling.
all as crazy as i, completely different types of people too.
our bodies and mind are good at protecting us.
generalizing and profiling; measuring things is the way we’re programmed to do so. naturally or maybe through generations nurturing such fundamentals. think of how we still view territory and ethnicity. subconsciously as well as consciously. much like that we do with drugs, food, candy, people, water, colors. it reminds us of something. this can go into me explaining how we know everything in the universe, we just get the light bulb to pop and we say “oh, i get it now” a click; like remembering a dream or a black out night after putting the pieces together. but as we generalize, we close doors. which is GREAT in many cases. it’s cool that you know not to delve into such chaotic worlds, substances can take you to; too bad it had to take touching the hot stove once, unknowingly. (doing a hard drug, or any potentially damaging noun or verb) many either go to the extremes of either never doing or never stopping… orrr being closed minded in any way such as an “ONLY WEED IS GOOD”, or any other substances, religions, ideologies and such. nahh mean?
within that i believe you’re more “sane” than any, in the loose interpretation that sane can mean having a collective healthy view that causes no harm to other and helps you progress. but in reality we’re all insane, trying to be sane, trying to be unique, trying to blend in and stand out. we’re paradoxes with bodies and a frontal cortex. it’s amazing.
when i was laced, i felt i went through every negative drug use. i did not feel psychedelic effects though, at all. only the feeling of the ‘crazy hard’ drugs that people stay feeening for.. i felt dead, like they were only downers. but i kept myself up, somehoww.
aawee whitney don't say that if you ever want to hang out let me know. i love to don't feel lonely. i know well we haven't talked like much but if you ever feel lonely come to me. don't feel alone you have a really good friend for life right here. lubsyou! <3
my friend for life, thank you lucy.
tbh weed helps me eat
when i can’t bare the sight of food
my aunt that just came into my life a few months ago keeps pushing me to go to college in europe
so i sent her this
"you have to understand, i’m not in a position to make a decision to go to school right now. School will ALWAYS be there, I will always have to the chance to go. I will only go when i know I will be serious about it, I’m sorry if that upset you but you can’t keep pushing if it’s not the right time. I do appreciate the little comments and everything but.. it is up to me. I am very very very grateful that you are willing to give me that chance but you have to understand, timing is everything and now is not the right time for me. As for my birthday, I will have to see when is okay because of work and everything. Like I said, Thank you very much, but the more you push it on me, most likely, the more it will go out of my mind. much love. "
i don’t know, i hope she doesnt take it the wrong way, but i’m sorry i wont waste your time if i’m not going to take something seriously
so much pain
i want o rip my lungs/ribs apart
i cant do much of anything without a sharp piercing pain by my upper right rib
i might have to go back to the doctor/hospital
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