This is what happens when you let others tell you what’s right and what’s wrong, hypocrites who don’t do as they preach. Freedom to me is being ok with not being viewed as the good guy.
Sometimes I think it must feel filthy to have so many of us project themselves alalslalalallllllll over you and I want to post you some lovely soaps and shit. Big blue ribbon, that country girl gingham plaid dress blue kinda blue.
...and yet others, I'm fucking 72% certain that's not a mouse back there in the other room, it's in fact you, you're all up in my shit rn and surviving on some skittles maybe, the skittles I skittled by my bedside the other night and left to lay like slop pig that I am.
I got this in a Tweet from Dinty Moore the other day: A work of art “has to surprise its audience, which it can do only if it has legitimately surprised its creator.” ~ George Saunders
It helped me free myself—or at least begin to think about freeing myself—from the self-inflicted, painful constraints of my “meeting the needs of my audience.”
"I’ve been shrinking, slowly becoming someone who wants to be understood by everyone..." I feel it. Last night, I was trying to work out a similar idea in a song lyric, something about not being able to say anything true while worrying about being misunderstood, about how one had to go--clarity or, what, veracity? I couldn't get it to work (probably because I was worried about being misunderstood) and gave up, had a drink, went to bed. Maybe giving up is the only way through this tangle? I don't know. Thanks for writing about the struggle!
“I need to remember how it felt to take the risk of being misunderstood: by you, by the whole world.” ❤️🔥❗️
This is what happens when you let others tell you what’s right and what’s wrong, hypocrites who don’t do as they preach. Freedom to me is being ok with not being viewed as the good guy.
Sometimes I think it must feel filthy to have so many of us project themselves alalslalalallllllll over you and I want to post you some lovely soaps and shit. Big blue ribbon, that country girl gingham plaid dress blue kinda blue.
...and yet others, I'm fucking 72% certain that's not a mouse back there in the other room, it's in fact you, you're all up in my shit rn and surviving on some skittles maybe, the skittles I skittled by my bedside the other night and left to lay like slop pig that I am.
it's u rite
ugh didn't realize how much i needed this, thank you.
1) We’re all lonely now but in the most claustrophobic way, knowing that our days are numbered
2) I just need to focus on what I own: tear ducts, heartbeats, these weird little veins still winding toward the sun.
3) I’ve been shrinking, slowly becoming someone who wants to be understood by everyone
4) Animals walk out into the cold air and follow the odd logic of their heartbeats through the dark hills
5) I'm still alive
I got this in a Tweet from Dinty Moore the other day: A work of art “has to surprise its audience, which it can do only if it has legitimately surprised its creator.” ~ George Saunders
It helped me free myself—or at least begin to think about freeing myself—from the self-inflicted, painful constraints of my “meeting the needs of my audience.”
"I’ve been shrinking, slowly becoming someone who wants to be understood by everyone..." I feel it. Last night, I was trying to work out a similar idea in a song lyric, something about not being able to say anything true while worrying about being misunderstood, about how one had to go--clarity or, what, veracity? I couldn't get it to work (probably because I was worried about being misunderstood) and gave up, had a drink, went to bed. Maybe giving up is the only way through this tangle? I don't know. Thanks for writing about the struggle!
reading made me think of Nina Simone singing "Ain't Got No" (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L5jI9I03q8E). thank you
I love your writing.
most beautiful thing i've read in a while
There’s a cover version of the Peggy Lee song by Cristina. As a pandemic anthem maybe it’s panthemic?