in smoke filled rooms of electric sound

reading old posts remind me of how i felt then, and i usually end up feeling the same again.

'and those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music.' nietzsche

i don't seem to know where i'm going anymore. and i feel like i'm drowning, to use one of those metaphors that everyone tosses around because nothing's original. i don't know what to say or how to feel about the several situations that surround my life. can't there be an off button of some kind i can install on the wall and can't i call you for help? you're breaking my heart with your silence, you know. i look at the letters on the letter and i sigh in disappointment yet again because i'm not good enough. for me, for you, for anyone.

sometimes i think i'd like to die young just so i could be remembered as what i could have been. i don't want to live long enough to fail and become just another smear of dirt on society's freshly painted bedroom walls. just the very idea of this is making me shake in the kitchen chair where i feverishly type away on these shiny black keys. i wish i could lose myself in anything that wasn't you or the things i used to do. but just as i collapse and retire into quiet anonymity i remember all the things you used to say and the way you walked away and i can finally breathe.

you must think i'm fucking stupid if i'm going to sit here and listen to you bullshit. most of you don't know how great your lives are. and i don't need no lecture on how i should be grateful for having a house and clean water - because i am. most of you will live content lives and do what you've always wanted. maybe you'll have kids and get married, maybe you'll start your own dance troupe, maybe you'll direct hollywood films, maybe you'll be a rockstar and snort cocaine off hot young things, maybe you'll teach biophysics; i don't know what you want to do in life.

you say i'm broken, i say i'm doing just fine in the separate parts of me. i don't need you to tell me i need to be fixed. i don't need your bullshit. don't pity me. the worst thing in the world you could do is pity me because that only makes me hate you more. hate me if you'd like. i'm sure a lot of you do. but don't waste your pity on me because all i'm going to do is spit venom right back at you.

and apparently there are better things in life than alcohol, but sometimes it'll make up for not having them.