My Thoughts Are Pollution

Coming-of-age ramblings that don't mean much in the long run

Month: May, 2016

Baggage

I think I love you so

Let’s go
Let’s go anywhere but here
Can you drive?
I won’t bring anything this time
No baggage
And no pills for peace of mind
And we won’t
Get high
Get high
Get high
For once in my
Short life
Too long
Get high
I just have to get away sometimes

A Thousand Miles An Hour

I
Can see me fuck it up
I want to touch
Everything that’s out of reach
And I
It’s not enough
To fuck it up
To fuck up everything
And I
Can not be you
I cannot do
The things you want me to
Oh, I
Am rubber
You are glue
Everything I had
Rubbed off on you

And it makes no sense
But it doesn’t really matter if
It makes no sense to me
There are a thousand other things
To think about

I
Can see me fuck it up
I want to touch
Everything that’s out of reach
And I
Am not enough
I’ll fuck it up
You know, you can’t have everything
And I
Can’t be myself
There’s someone else
I have to emulate
Oh I
Can make this hell
I’ll skin myself
And you’ll cooperate

And it makes no sense
But it doesn’t really matter if
It makes no sense to me
There are a thousand other things
All coming out of me
And it makes no sense
But it doesn’t really matter if
It makes no sense to me
Oh, you can’t have everything
And there are a thousand other things
To think about.

I Am Nothing, Only Nothing

I’m so goddamn scared that I’m not good at anything. And I need to be. I need to be good at something. Not even for the sake of having a career, although that’s not totally irrelevant, but for the sake of staying sane. I need something in my life that I can look at and feel accomplished.

I don’t have anything like that right now. I look at the body of my writing work, and when compared to people I respect, it all seems mediocre. There’s nothing about me that stands out.

I’m coming to terms with the fact that I am utterly average. I’m probably even below average. I’m not good at anything. No, you don’t understand. I’m not good at anything. I’m an average writer, a sub-par guitar player, a sub-par lyricist, a sub-par philosopher, I can’t solve puzzles or riddles, I’m not as smart as I think I am, I’m a bad driver, I’m slow at stocking shelves, I have a hard time understanding questions that are asked of me or directions that are given to me and often require people to repeat what they are saying multiple times in sentences worded multiple different ways before I have a grasp of what they’re trying to say.

I’m a bad listener, often simply waiting my turn to speak rather than actually investing myself in what the other person is saying. To that end, I don’t even have anything interesting or useful to say; most of my conversations with people involve me desperately searching for either a way to end the conversation or a way to not sound crazy, and I often fail to do either. I’m a terrible conversationalist.

I’m bad at marketing, I have no grasp on how to get the stuff I make seen by people, and the little I do know in regards to that involve behaving in ways that rub me the wrong way; the idea of me trying to advertise skeeves me out.

I also have an addictive and self-destructive personality. While for some unknowable reason I am 100% immune to cigarette addiction (I mean, I can smoke habitually for months and then quit cold turkey on accident, just because I keep forgetting to buy more; I’m seriously unaffected by them in that way) I am easily hooked on other substances and have a difficult time living without a “high” to look forward to.

I can’t even sleep properly. I have to wear a mask that breathes for me while I sleep, and even with that, I still don’t feel good when I wake up.

I’m bad at organizing and cleaning. I’m horrendously forgetful. I have no hold on my adult life; I’m not capable of managing it in a healthy way. I can’t finish anything I start. I’m bad at my hobbies. I’m bad at Magic: The Gathering, a game I play obsessively and sink ungodly amounts of money into. I’m lazy, and these days, I can’t even bring myself to read very often, something I used to spend entire days, sometimes even weeks, doing. I’m bad at hygeine, often taking all of the proper steps but still feeling unclean anyway.

I’m terrible at managing my time.

I can’t think of a single thing that I am even above-average at, let alone actually good at. This is distressing. It really drains me of hope for my future. I don’t think I have one. I think I’ve hit a wall, and there’s no getting over it. I’m done. I’m toast. I’m ruined. There’s nothing. There’s no way forward.

Let’s All Start A Band

No, really, let’s do it.

I need this in my life again.

One of my favorite Front Bottoms songs

 

“I paint my face on wall in your bedroom,

I would say anything if it would make you happy.

I’m trippin’ acid, while you’re trippin’ mushrooms

I’m falling through the floors, and walking on the ceiling.

And we both know where this is going to lead to.

Put your poems inspired by true love,

I would say anything if it would make you happy.

I’d sing you songs until you said ‘enough’

I’m falling through the floors and walking on the ceiling.

…”

I don’t know if this what the intention was when they were writing it, but this song very much feels like me and my best friend’s anthem from when we were using. The line “We both know where this is going to lead to” seems to capture what we were feeling at the time perfectly. There’s a melancholy to it,we knew we were destroying our lives. We knew the end of the road was an early death. But we were doing it anyway. It felt right. We would die, screaming in defiance at the abyss the entire way. There was no ignorance there, there were no delusions that things were going to get better. They were only going to get worse, and we decided we were okay with that.

I covered it, too. So there’s that.

I think I’m one of the only covers of the song on all of Youtube, which is interesting. There’s another one, above mine, but it doesn’t cover the vocal parts. It’s just the person playing the acoustic guitar over the song. Which is fine; though I find it less personally satisfying than seeing an alternate rendition of a song. Saying that is a little self-serving, I guess, but my cover is by no means fantastic. There are a ton of other Front Bottoms covers out there, and some of them are jaw-droppingly fantastic.
The covers done by Harrison Watters in particular are incredible, and put mine to shame.

Yeah, I Know

It’s only been two days.

I’m clearly crazy.

But bleh. Falling for people is awful. As someone who was at one point a hopeless romantic but is now hopelessly cynical, I never really want to fall for anyone. Especially not, like, at first sight or anything. I know for a fact that these feelings are bullshit. They’re not based in anything. I obviously just think she’s hot. Or whatever. Even though that may be the first time I’ve used that word in all of my obsessing. It’s been a barrage of “beautiful,” “pretty,” and the cold, clinical “attractive” that I am ever so fond of using.

The word puts some distance between myself and the feeling. It suddenly becomes just another impulse to examine, rather than something screaming from the inside of me begging to get out. At least, that’s what I’m attempting to do. But I think my natural instinct is to bathe in this feeling.

Love is like a drug, you know? And I don’t mean that in a poetic sense, I mean your brain literally releases endorphins when experiencing it.

I kind of almost wish I didn’t know that fact. Then I could pretend this feeling was something magical; something important. But instead I have to live with the knowledge that this feeling is little different from the feeling I got from the assortment of multicolored ambiguous pills I took in school to get high. And it really isn’t all that different, upon actual close-up examination. Which makes me vaguely disgusted by it. Not because I’m disgusted by the idea of getting high, but because I hate the idea of using human beings as focused, reusable serotonin manufacturers. Taking a pill and getting an artificial version of that feeling is much more appealing to me, simply because the manipulation factor isn’t there. I’m not manipulating anyone when I take a pill to get high. I am when I steal a kiss to get high.

But even though I’m spouting all of this pseudo-philosophical rhetoric, it’s all kind of meaningless given the context of the actual situation. This is all an overreaction to a single non-event that occurred on Thursday. And I mean, non-event. Nothing significant happened, she just happened to be beautiful. And she was beautiful in such a way that struck me somewhere subconsciously; she clearly reminds me of someone or something I’m fond of or was once fond of. There’s no other explanation for this; I haven’t felt this way about someone since I was a teenager.

And that’s kind of fucked up. And it explains my over-the-top reaction to it all; I’ve felt as though my emotions were stunted in a way since I got past the hormonal nonsense of adolescence. And maybe they were, though I suspect that this is a chicken-or-the-egg situation; it’s more likely that my emotions were just significantly heightened back then, and upon exiting that stage in my life, they settled into a more stable, sensible place.

Maybe I wouldn’t have noticed it; maybe it would have been a gradual thing had I not been recklessly abusing drugs through my transition into this technical adulthood. I kept the emotional fires raging through constant highs and lows, and when I suddenly stopped having those highs and lows… The emotional “middle ground” that I eventually returned to was a much duller place than it was when I was younger.

I’m digressing here, though with this being nothing more than a monologue that almost no one besides myself is going to experience, the negative aspects of a digression don’t really have any meaning. But I do have a point that I want to make to myself, so I need to weave back into the main topic from time to time at least. The point I was trying to make before dissecting my steps into my shitty excuse for adulthood was that feeling something as vividly as I did when I was fifteen is kind of… it’s incredibly off-putting and I’m at a total loss. It’s overwhelming. I’m so unfathomably attracted to her right now, and it’s both unhealthy and unbecoming. And it’s also distressing, because I have so little control over it. I want to stop feeling it. I want it to go away, as it’s a path I’m not going to pursue.

But more than that, I want it all to magically, instantly happen. I want to be dropped into the set of my own romantic comedy, minus the part of the movie where the couple goes through a rough patch for no discernable reason. And it’s so stupid! It’s so terrible. I don’t even know her!

But god, I like her.

See? See that? That’s the problem. I am interpreting these uncontrolled endorphins I feel when thinking about her as some sort of actual affection, when there is no way that it’s that. And no amount of logic-ing my way around it seems to convince me that these feelings are anything but honest and pure.

I know that they’re not! But It doesn’t feel like they’re not. It feels like I’ve finally encountered someone who I adore.

Let me stress this: I don’t fucking know her. It is impossible for me to actually like her, let alone love her.

But even as I say this, the words that I want to type onto the page are that or adoration. I want to fawn over here.

She’s so pretty. She has these bright eyes; I couldn’t tell you what color they were because I found her so incredibly radiant that it was difficult to look at her face for longer than a few moments at a time. Also, I felt awkward. I always do, and I guess she’s no different from anyone else in that respect, but… God, she’s pretty. She’s beautiful. She’s adorable.

This is what I actually feel like expressing, even though I know that it’s wrong. I feel like fawning over her, and obsessing over her. In a way, I most definitely am still obsessing over her, though I think I’m more obsessing over this desire to obsess over her than anything else. It’s maybe just as creepy. I wish I could stop this, but no matter how hard I try to think my way through it, my brain keeps falling back to one simple thing: she has completely and fully stolen my heart. And for nothing! All she had to do was show up!

And, like… say hi to me. And then sit next to me. And then compliment me and give me a high five.

All of these things are incredibly innocuous.

This is why I’m frustrated with myself. I feel terrible. I feel horrible. I want to wash not just her from my brain, but anyone whom I’ve ever felt this way about. It feels stupid; it feels wrong. I hate it. It’s all fake, it’s all fucking nonsense!

And this is maybe the biggest reason of all I wish something would just happen. It’d be so much easier just to like her than to do whatever it is I’m doing now.

And god, is she pretty.

Anything At All

I think I’ve had enough
I want some help with all my
Fucking problems
I know I’m not in love
But I just want somebody else
To solve them
I want to cut it up
I see the pictures and the
Poetry
I think I’ll fuck it up
I am alone and I
Will always be

I dream of death
When I sleep
I don’t dream of
Anything
And it makes no sense
To me
I can’t repair this
Broken thing
And I know that
I don’t like you
’cause I don’t like
Anything

Why would you even like me?
When I don’t like
Anything.

At Never Sight

I can feel my face
I can feel it in my hands
And I won’t let go
As the sweat pours down
And pools there in my palms
I think I gotta erase
All the thing’s I’ve done, my best laid-plans
And I know
There’s no getting around
No solution that will calm

Me down,
You cannot calm me down

And I can hear you screaming
Even though we’ve never met
You are but a vision
Swirling around in my head
And I feel so demeaning
Falling for your pretty eyes
Like an incision
Cut into mine

I can feel my heart
I can feel it pounding in my head
Like a bass drum
Or a hole punched through a wall
And a door slammed closed
I gotta tear it apart
All the things I wrote, the words I said
And I am so dumb
I can’t get through it all
So nobody knows

And I can see you acting
Even though we’ve never met
You are my one and only
These are words I’ve never said
And your figure, so distracting
Standing in my peripheral vision
Cut into my lonely
Heart with cold precision

I can feel my heart
Pounding in my hands
Where your fingers hang loosely
Where you are.
Where I am.

And I can feel you touching
Even though we’ve just met
Everything and nothing
And I see your pretty eyes
Like an incision
Cut right into mine

A love at never sight.

Oh, I’m Also Here, If You Were Wondering

I’m Here, I Think