Severe existential crisis caused by Ryan Adams.
I’ve survived many of these somehow…
"You have a right to experiment with your life. You will make mistakes. And they are right too. No, I think there was too rigid a pattern. You came out of an education and are supposed to know your vocation. Your vocation is fixed, and maybe ten years later you find you are not a teacher anymore or you’re not a painter anymore. It may happen. It has happened. I mean Gauguin decided at a certain point he wasn’t a banker anymore; he was a painter. And so he walked away from banking. I think we have a right to change course. But society is the one that keeps demanding that we fit in and not disturb things. They would like you to fit in right away so that things work now."
— Anaïs Nin (via petit-poids)
(Source: thequietrabbit, via reckon)
(Source: senpezeco, via fuckyeahowls)
I miss LA,
it’s never really cloudy there.
“a group of drunken men made jokes they thought i could not hear about my shoes questioning my sexuality. how funny. i never thought socks drenched in maddening patterns and a sharp fitted wardrobe equaled a rooted idea of preferring the gender of a chosen love. either way my socks come with a stare i know how to conjure with a smile that could shut down an electrical system too big to used for anything but conduction the madness of eternity. it is calm, but my eyes say quietly, ” i will eat your soul”
somehow, even through the fog of ignorance plus shitty lagers they understood i had seen the pitch black and maybe those socks and those funny shoes and that nice suit to match were the only things between me and them and me, becoming something they had only ever imagined in their worse feverish flu ridden nightmares.
how soon and how stiff were they and how quickly their frothing mouths shut into silences. speaking of, my depression seems to be in check however, i allow it to live how it chooses within me. A button came darting off my overcoat which is not warm enough by any means for the third time tonight and I actually cried. A tear actually left my eye and it did that without me thinking or wanting it to or caring that it did.
34 years old. A grown man. And I don’t know a thing about myself or love or meaning anymore than I did when I held it in my hand watching it slowly dissolve like cubes in a glass of lava.
Either way, somehow, I know i am just sick. heart-sick and self-destroyed and if nothing else, illuminating that is a door.
now i guess i have to see if my soul has the legs and the balance left to walk through.
otherwise, i sit here awake, seeing the world and me in it just as it is.
and without sounding like a doomed idiot, i feel none the bleaker or less embarrassed as i ever have.
tomorrow this all stops as always when i take my place alongside my friends and we travel someplace scary and new inside those song castles that always feel more like a reasonable mythology than anyone will ever understand.
no song today just words. humbly and honestly, i hope everyone i don’t know, your silent eyes are well and warm and safe from harm.
R”
(11/7/08)
