when all else fails, you can always turn to the first three albums of the strokes.
perhaps the words to be uttered here, if anyone is willing to listen, is the very act of living is hard.
what began as a gradual okay-ness into monotony was struck, or jolted back into reality or when I am confronted by sudden loss – one is immediately brought back into reality. and it is one that is too hard to bear. funny that the christians also say the same things as the muslims – god does not give more than what you cannot bear. so to bear it i will.
what it feels like is i am carrying a monstrous block of ugliness. that every stare, word, touch is false and that any thought is empty any memory obscured by a non-objective truth, every bit of feeling questioned, any hint of excitement questioned. there is no joy, only pretense.
did london help at all, with all its gloominess, chais and oysters?
i cannot partake.
perkaraperkara 