overrated pants

I’m kind of just floating, generally being wasteful and wanting to change for the better. I have so much to do and need to stop enjoying things that should no longer be contributing to my dizzy lull. When I ride the bus I feel the need to discover excitement in something, a need that is mostly fulfilled by the beauty I find in nature and buildings that pass by lazily, a need that exists in an attempt to help me ignore the foulness that grazes my arms, legs, back, neck, hair. I devised a game the other day, where I try to decide whether the music currently flowing into my ear canals matches the scenery around me. It is fucking perfect, it is so completely me, and I have never before been so completely engrossed in something that is so tragically simple; however, due to my constant need to find perfection and avoid uncomfortable aural and cognitive dissonance, it can be quite unsettling. For example, upon concluding that Sleep on Needles perfectly matches the way that the trees are blowing in the wind, I find myself noticing some minor detail in the landscape [there are three cars on the street and one of them is a brightly-coloured sedan instead of a neutral Jeep; the boy kicking a soccer ball is facing southwest instead of east; the sun is hitting my window with too much intensity; the little mexican girl is not alone on the street corner and instead, is accompanied by her coddling mother; etcetera] that makes this particular song completely wrong for what I am viewing. It can be quite frustrating, actually, since it allows me to come to the realization that I am much too obsessive about certain things and leads me into a frenzied panic over technically nothing tangible, but I am still convinced that it is the most perfect game that I have invented and will continue to occupy myself with this neverending search. In other news, I am finding that people take simple actions much too seriously, women continue to disappoint me with their endless catty bickering, I am not embarrassed by the things you most likely are, and dressing like a homeless person will not cease the openly lewd comments of men.

liars

I was completely unaware but eventually found myself nodding my head in a beautiful rhythm as his fingers cyclically strummed the same four chords for four minutes and forty-four seconds. I was lost in his music, lost in the relief I felt when he opened his mouth. Have you noticed, I hum a lot. Most of the time I am completely unaware, quickly made aware, slowly learning to stop myself. Are you humming? It’s a bad habit. I am forming a wishlist, so far it includes a typewriter and a bichon frise. I would be perfectly content with just the first, my ability to care for a puppy is quite questionable. I find myself thinking about the numerous possibilities that accompany the interior decoration of an old castle with high ceilings and extravagant windows, mostly in the long hours that precede my return to a room that is painfully cluttered and helpless. The notion of pattern formation is abstractly seductive but the darkness around my eyes and sluggish brain both hold me back. Industrial tape, an empty perfume bottle, oblong violet pills, cold coffee that has been swimming in stone for fourteen hours, large silver hoops that draw blood from my bruised earlobes, the remanents of a three-hundred calorie meal, hairspray, curling iron all in a tiny space meant for a box of tissues and the seminal words of Freud, at most. I don’t know what I’m waiting for. My poster [block, rapid, patrol lube, donut, vcr, loss, color, aid, 25cents, etcetera] is about to throw itself upon my pillow again. Perhaps that.