Writing means nothing until it means something to someone else. Emotional defenses of that statement aside, it’s expression existing in a vacuum. It’s the tree falling in the forest with nothing to experience it except itself. Symbols without the symbolized. But the moment it means something to someone else, the moment it strikes a deep chord within an “other,” there within the fabric of that abstract yet deep connection is where the spark that lights the true being of our very existence can be glimpsed.
Sometimes you just want to reach out into that dark unknown and touch someone whose face you don’t even recognize yet.
my insomnia has struck again. i’m so tired but i can’t get to sleep. i’m so tired but i can’t get to sleep. gone from talking to ghosts to being a ghost. but i still have two hours of trying before i get desperate. anyone know of any good stories?
Once a label is on something
It becomes an it
Like it’s no longer alive
It’s like a loss of vision
Or some dark impression
Or a black spot on your eye
If it’s up to you
My little sweet baboo
Through the shouting and the fever
Think of life as queer
Think of it my dear
And some knobs or a fancy tone
From here there is no reason
Baby’s got it made
But it’s not what the life’s about
What is imagination
May become a fact
If we think of it that way
If you want to know
I can tell you now
Oh if you make it through somehow
Or is it best to keep or fall to sleep
It isn’t looking very good to me from here
(what new york couples fight about, morcheeba)
this is one of my favorite songs. to listen to alone in the dark at 3am. which is when i’m usually listening to it lately. you can hear it if you click on the link above (then click on the title. it’ll take a few minutes to download before automatically playing). i put it up on my site for you to listen to, if you guys have never gotten a taste of morcheeba.
According to Brian, “I’ll be in my room watching Margaret Cho and lifting weights” is a really really gay statement.