I AM JACK'S SMIRKING REVENGE

2012-05-28

I hope you read some fine books and kiss someone who thinks you’re wonderful, and don’t forget to make some art — write or draw or build or sing or live as only you can.

— Neil Gaiman (via thatquote)

(via mygayshoes)

Source: thatquote

2012-05-27

Sargeant Pepper’s were making music for lonely hearts and we’re making music for lunatics.

— Sergio Pizzorno, Kasabian.

You know, maybe it’s okay to live here on the fine line between okay and failing. Maybe it’s okay to walk slowly along it on my toes, wobbling and shaking with my arms out like a fucking lunatic acrobat. Sometimes I like to jump up and down on the wire for fun. Watch it bounce and swing as I flirt with the notion of falling into the abyss. Dorothy Parker said something about those who have known the storm growing tired of the calm. I think that basically sums up my entire life. Every time I’ve been close to being okay I’ve panicked really. The first time I was on anti-d I used to tip them down the sink when no one was looking.

I like to have control over my own madness, which sounds fucking ridiculous really but it makes sense to me. I don’t want to be sitting on my couch watching television with my loving wife and 2.5 kids. Or with my loving husband and golden retriever. I want to be on tour, or wandering around the night like some lonely minstrel-poet. Shouting obscenities at God and spilling booze all over my shoes. I want to have the courage and lunacy to push the button of my own volition.

I don’t want to have doctors controlling my moods and decisions. I’m tired of the revolving door of therapy and medicine and fucking down-down-down, that look in people’s eyes when they know that they can’t reach you and you feel so fucking ashamed of your pathetic wasted life. But if I weren’t so down, would the good times mean as much? If I weren’t so defeated, would the times I feel vibrant and solid and alive fade? Truth is, I don’t think I want to be ‘okay’ all the time.

And maybe that’s all right.

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(via angels-deserve-to-die)

Source: make-hate

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Source: liberationfrecuency

2012-05-26

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Source: feydrauthadarkheart

2012-05-25

Read More isn’t working.

Therapy makes me feel pathetic and useless. Why pay someone to tell you things you should already know? I stopped going because of that. It’s my own fault I can’t handle life. Existence confuses me. I don’t understand the point, and there has to be one for me. Otherwise, I don’t feel like I’m going anywhere.

I feel like I’m wasting time. I want to feel alive, and all I feel is empty. Useless. I have no motivation to do anything either, so it’s my own fault I haven’t achieved anything. My shit writing, shit singing, shit guitar playing and shit body could all be improved if
I tried but it would take time and dedication and I’m probably never going to achieve anything so why spend the effort? I’d rather just allow myself to self destruct, but I can’t because I’m useless at that too. Too hopeless to live, too stubborn to die.

I’m good at getting drunk. I’m good at losing friends. I’m good at dreaming of the future but rubbish at everything else.

What a fucking waster indeed.

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(via axelorez)

Source: painintheface