im going to be deleting this blog soon and making a new one

i’d be lying if i said this blog was for me

it’s to get your attention. its so i can feel funny. so i can feel liked. so i can feel good.

this blog was never about me or for me.

it was always about everyone else.

im ready to make myself feel those things. im ready to try not looking for approval but instead to try to grant myself approval.

im ready to maybe not be funny and maybe not be liked.

im ready to write posts entirely for myself. 

i’m ready to let this die and be reborn. im ready to grow.

i want to be
soft
simple
like fruit pulp
sweet
unharmed
and very
very
ripe.

on trying to make art when you’re 20.

joolabird:

a life without intrigue is lost on me. I am fueled by darkness. Drawn to those who are presented pretty things and on impulse; break them. I am so ordered and articulate. I am drawn to those who undo the world in front of me. That is when I am fed. When my hunger is curved, and I can live in the world a little more easily. I am in need of the destructive nature of the dissatisfied soul. In this, is creation. In this, is the intrigue. The darkness. The morbidity. The pursuit of art and creation, can feel very frustrating and misguided at our age. We all want to be doing the dopest shit, all the time. Especially around here. Especially where I am from. Especially with the people I associate with. It is hard to find means to make art, and make it last. Make it make an impact. Reaction time? We wall want our thoughts and our words….our music, or our mark to be imprinted! and quickly! But it is in the act of living, intentionally, in community, where we find that the pursuit of art is often in the pursuit of people. In the act of being alive- that some people find their artistic center. 

Concepts. I have a lot of concepts. Images, and ideas that I want to have come to fruition. A lot of prompts. A lot of misfirings at the moon. Drawing boards, and one night stands with my dreams. Where I prop them up on stilts and make them look all make believe. But they fade. And I fall victim to the little agonies of life, and the idea that maybe I have more time. To curve this artistic/creationist void, I fall into a rhythm of living in relationship. I run with a pack that feels right. Spend time in the face of great joy and pain. People that are creating and thinking in the same language. I live along to the kind of life that makes creation feel, inevitable. I keep creators and innovators in my circle. I align with whom have a fetish for the unsaid. I have a habit of pulling people aside into spiritual corners. Swapping secrets and silent codes, in order to make them feel like we know something they don’t. It’s strange. But it’s me. And a life without intrigue is lost on me. 

So my life looks too pretty these days. I wanna break it. See what’s underneath, at least. 

I’m tired of it all

joolabird:

Whoever I love,
will have to love to go,
as much as I go.

I’m so tired. So exhausted. Of being apart of other people’s families.

To the core,
To whom do I belong?

Whoever I love?
Come with me.
I don’t want to go to anyone, anymore.

Let’s not pretend I am apart of your finally, for once.

Just come with me.
That’s all I ask.
Go where I go,
And see what I see.

Because I am so tired,
So exhausted,
Of being everyone’s-
And no ones.

Do you know how many tables have an extra chair set out for me?
So many.

I just wish I could go home to the table that I was born to be at.
But it’s just not there, anymore.

Nothing is mine, anymore.
Nothing is mine.

My heart is in my eyes, today.
And I’m just tired.