I've done nothing all day. I slept, felt like shit when I was awake, and slept some more. Now that I'm up, I'm just going to grab a bite to eat and then pass out listening to some depressing piece of soothing earcandy. Is it in these moods that we are suppose to produce something artistic? Do you automatically become an artist once you put your thoughts onto a piece of paper or paint them on canvas? I'm at a point in my life where I feel like I have nothing to look forward to, the things I wanted to see or accomplish are just muffled sounds thumping in and out of my head. I feel like a robot on autopilot, going somewhere and doing things that other people would want to see me do. Why does it take a tragedy to produce something beautiful? Can you love life? I wish I was able to appreciate it more. I wish that I could hold on to some of the people I meet.. one person in general. The person that shares the great unknown with you, the person that appreciates your efforts to make things better for the two of you, the same exact person that squeezes toothpaste from the middle and the person that you can be comfortable being yourself around wearing your grandma's panties, if it were to come to that. There is no specific point I'm trying to make here, this is just your typical, run-of-the-mill, tour through the half-closed doors of my thinkbox. Some people never find their Eve, the Eve that their inner Adam once gave a rib for. It's like we are the people, put here on earth to play a game. How it goes is, you, long ago, gave something away to a person to hold onto, that something was a half of your heart (or a rib). What God did (if there is one), is shuffle us all like a deck of cards, and threw us up on the planet we call home. Now we're lost in our own habitat, looking for the person without a face who has the other half of your heart you once gave away to. When you find that person, you win a prize, you win the life-long vacation in paradise, this paradise we will call a healthy relationship with a person that made you complete and vice versa. This prize would be love. 4.26am Why did the bitch had to eat the apple? You know, I believe in reincarnation, I believe that once we're done fucking around here, by that I mean once we've run out of sand in the hourglass, we become germs. As if. On the last time you exhale, you let out your lifelong soul, or a bacteria in this case, that floats around, looking for a vulnerable host to invade. This is when you start over. So people that once left a message, committed a crime, created something beautiful are the same people that later find that message, solve the crime, and the same people keep on creating something beautiful where they left off. We all start off with preloaded talents in our hard-drives. I mentally kill things I love, and then bitch and whine about it, that is my talent. We run around in circle or a pentagon all our lives, trying to connect the dots, leaving cookie crumbs after ourselves so we don't get lost and get back to the place we once started off with. I don't even like writing, but at this point, after a long night of drinking and all day of feeling like a shit at the bottom of your shoe, it's actually pretty therapeutic. 5.02am I want my half back. I want to learn how to play the guitar again, because I once knew, then forgot, I want to write songs about breakups. You know that one song that triggers something when you listen to it, because you think it's poetically well put together, because you can relate to it, because you went through the same shit once too and you just want to give a good, firm handshake to the song's creator and give 'em a nice pat on the back for the deja vu. The same germ-like character that fell from the 'breakup' tree and hit every branch on the way down, wrote that song. I want to be back with my someone, the one that makes me feel whole again. This 'dear diary' babble shit is done. 5.12am ..find me again please. I feel like my head is a balloon being detached from my body, and my mind floating away in search of interesting subjects to think about. What would happen if all that you think about was actually presented to other people on a silver platter, when somebody asks you on your thoughts about their plastic surgery operation and you just happen to laugh a little in your head and proceed to think how their nose looks like an elephant trunk tied in a knot. Picture your thoughts being put into comic-book style bubbles, imagine walking around the city being able to read what people are thinking, turning pages and then reading more. Imagine how overwhelming it would be. Well when you find your half's keeper that's pretty much how it is.. you don't have to worry about them lying to you about where they have been the night before, or whether or not your ass looks fat in those jeans, yes it does and they will let you know that. You can simply read their mind. How surreal would our world be if we could all have mentally constructed appartments in our heads, then invite others to see how you live. We would live in pure bliss. Would it bother you much if the person that you invited to have a look-see at the newly redesigned humble abode in your head starts hogging the blankets or not wiping their feet on the fresh laid 'welcome' mat located somewhere between cerebellum and the brain stem? I have the biggest brainstorm in my head right now, guess I kind of crashed my appartment when I got drunk last night, now the whole place is a mess, hypothalamus is all fucked up, can't sleep in peace anymore, damn cold in here. I want to invent a color and give it a name, a person's name, maybe a gender too.. 5.45am still here, I wonder.. if I had a thick black stripe on my forehead, it would smile.
