What is and isn't. What has been. What is yet to come. What can change, what never will. Why? How? Who am I? Does anything exist? Are there any answers? You know, the inconsequential things.
Barry White, but he's dead unfortunately. I was thinking mild necrophilia might be an option. That being, diggin him up, but rather than doing anything rude, just huggin and kissin his beautiful dead body a little bit.
I like lyrics, it's all about the lyrics. They make me feel warm, and a little bit happy. They are my favourites. Here's some I found tother day, I like these particularly:"some of them come now, some of them running, some of them looking for fun, some of them looking for a way out of confusion, some of them don't know what to be, some of them don't know where to go, some of them trust their instincts that something's missing from the show, some don't fit society, insides are crying low, some of them teachers squash the flame before it had a chance to grow, some of them embers do glow, them charcoal, hushed and low, some of them come with the hunger suppressed, not fed them feel a death blow,young man, control in your hand, slam your fist on the table and make your demand, take a stand, fan a fire for the flame of the youth, got the freedom to choose, better make the right move, young man, the power's in your hand, slam your fist on the table and make your demand, you better make the right move, storm the halls of vanity, focus your energy, into a laser beam, streaming shattered light, unites to pierce between the seams, and it seems, tear the world open, peer in the children see rapid for your mind. half the truth is just a lie, they rub me the wrong way, they say their way or fall behind. seven subjects disconnect, left out the concept as to why there's a spiritual emptiness, so the youth them get vexed, skip class and get wrecked fill with beer and cigarettes, to fill the hole in their chest."Im so sentimental. Doh. He coulda said 'young person' rather than 'young man' though couldn't he. Harder to rhyme, thats the beauty of lyrics, the words it forces/allows you to rhyme. Bob Dylan knows a fair amount about that I believe. Once he rhymed the N word with Trigger. Ha. How fuckin stupid IS he though? Really? I mean this must be a world where at least half its population (Im hoping thats an overestimate) would vote for a tyrannical leader like dubya, if dickwads like Dylan are allowed to not only write and record music but actually release it to a mass population of utterly impressionable minds. Fucking Bob Dylan, he has a lot to answer for. Im assuming you've seen the advert? I haven't. I have to look away through the nausea. Never have I seen such an ignoble jelly. The point is, Bob Dylan is the devil incarnate. Thats all.
Many many times have these peepers been opened to their widest through the medium of film. I love them, in all their escapism, with their poignant moments. Goddamn them. Its like when you find someone who could turn you to stone with their beauty and finesse, and then you get to know them, and they aren't real, they just look nice. Im a believer in first hand experience. Films are romanticised versions of real life. Lives should be lived. Not that I don't both watch and appreciate them myself. Contradiction is rife pon the mortal coil.
Opium of the People.
Basically loads of pretentious Heavy Duty Shit that everyones heard of before, and validates my existence as a thinking human being, obviously. I won't name names. For a lighter read, I often pick up the JACKIE annual. The things our mothers used to do, say and wear. Honestly, it makes me wheeze like a crackwhore. Silly bitches.
me, my mom, my sister, my dad (had to write that, it'd be tight otherwise wouldn't it? haha)I get new ones everyday. Anyone can be a hero. People who are kind, and run deep, like the still waters, are my favourites. Also, anyone who can crack me up is immediately promoted to heroship. Laughter is my one true love.