fulloflovingechoes

[fulloflovingechoes]

[fulloflovingechoes]

For you-

Got to write this down - just as a goofy little sincere part of me.

I want to take that part of me that is so desperate to love someone and turn it inward. I want to extend my deep overwhelming love for everything towards myself. I want to feel it wrap around me like a blanket. Maybe I can love someone, and maybe it can be me.

#self love

[fulloflovingechoes]

My favourite underrated Van Gogh paintings

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— Reema Sherin, Strings

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when i have a crush i dont kick my feet or twirl my hair instead i am in my kitchen at 3am pacing in circles with my hands clasped behind my back like a middle-aged divorced detective haunted by a cold case he just cant crack

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just wanna find the softest grass i can find and lay down in it and look at the sky for a very very very long time

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If hurting me does not hurt you, you don’t love me. You’re using me.

k.b // by jerry flowers jr

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why is religious Christmas imagery all so joyful and pleasant? where is the inherent horror of the birth of Christ? A mother is handed her newborn child, wailing and innocent. Her hands come away sticky. Red. Simply by giving her son life she has already killed him. He is doomed from the beginning. Her love will not save him from suffering. Because the thing cradled in her arms is not a baby, it is a sacrifice: born amongst the other bleating animals whose blood will one day be spilled in the name of what demands it. the night is silent with anticipation. Mary, did you know? That your womb was also a grave?

[fulloflovingechoes]

Labyrinth of Solitude, Time, Superman Etc.

I am finding myself once again BOGGED DOWN by the flow of time. I am filling my time. I am managing my time. I have a little blue planner that I picked up at the art store for $6.95 on the sales rack - 17 months. I would only be needing the back 10 or so. I made a joke with the clerk that I wouldn't be buying a planner so late, if I had a planner. They laughed politely.

I have 2 jobs now. An oppressive thought, but the good news is that my jobs are right next to each other, separated by a single restaurant. Most every day on my calendar has something to do. Go here, go there, do this, see them, do that. Keep up now, keep up! This is important for me. I use my free time as an excuse to ruminate on misdeeds, and am a well trained prison guard. I believe, on my therapy intake, I referred to it as a self stylized "Panopticon of Nihilism," so they know exactly what manner of douchery they're unpacking. Staying busy is how I'm trying to build a better me.

I'd like to move to the neighborhood where I work, and remove my commute entirely. One of my major hesitations is the recent sighting of an old friend. I've seen her every shift I've worked in the past week, which can only mean one thing: she lives there now. I don't know when she moved to the area. Also, "friend" doesn't exactly cut it. She was closer than that: a best friend. Although any time I said the phrase out loud she would let it hang in the air - all Damocles. She's a writer and a musician. A great actor, whip quick, and one of the smartest people I've ever met. Absurdly funny. One of the funniest people I've ever met. I love her a lot. Even now.

We stopped talking a year ago. It's my fault.

I took all of her for granted. I was so deep in self-hatred (read: narcissism) that I couldn't see her, and let all my agony pour out onto her. I was a bad friend to her. Horrible, actually. I'd minimize her troubles, and dismiss her outright. Even after she listened to me whine and complain and lament. I was difficult to be around. She put up with it for years. She was my main confidant and probably the person I trusted most. I wasn't in therapy, obviously. She kept me alive, and she told me hard truths. She loved me when I didn't. The shit I put her through while I wanted to die.

Thing is, I don't want to die anymore. I'm still depressed, but I want to live. I think the last year of my life, coincidentally the last year of my 20s, has been pretty eye opening. I am so fucking done with a lot of my self-hatred. One of the last things she told me before we stopped speaking was "you need to find a way to love yourself, because you deserve it. Even if we're not friends after this, I still love you." We hung out front of my apartment in the night for a while playing guitar. At the time I didn't realize it would be one of the last times we'd hang out. I headed in kind of early, I had an early shift the next morning. I thought I'd have more time.

There are things here, in me, I can love. It's hard to see them sometimes. I realize that it isn't just a voice of discontent within me yelling self-hatred, but a chorus line, kicking a can-can of "fuck yous," and "please-die-now"s. Some of those voices are variations of me, but a lot aren't. There are so many people here that love me too. I am finding out more more lately as to why. It's a bit like a wave. It gets easier and then harder again. Each time it shaves a little sand off the sea.

I've been reading Octavio Paz's Labyrinth of Solitude, which has been pretty eye opening. For anyone who stumbles across this, just a heads up: you are made. Like a massive portion of you is inborn - nature or whatever, but the nurture is so inseparable from the equation. How much the self is cultural, how much of it is history? How much have I sacrificed to assimilation? To read a book that reads you back is a weird thing, especially one that's targeted culturally. Here I am written. It's outdated in many ways, to be sure, but each sentence is like a homing missile on my identity.

The world is bigger than you are, and you are often powerless in the face of it. Nihilism seems to be the expected summation to that equation. It was my answer for the longest time, and in some days I found it my power. Nothing matters, so who gives a shit? But it's a cop out. At least to me it is. Nothing matters? Bullshit. Everything does. It fucking matters to me, and the people I care about. I can wax philosophical all the live long day about why something does or doesn't exist, about the solipsistic angle of it all. Meditate on the agony of knowing or not knowing, but if I have the excuse of "nothing matters," then nothing can. It's just another mask to hide behind, a trick to obscure.

I've been trying to fill my days with more hope. Fill my eye line with things of brighter nature. Changed the background on my phone to Superman, the best guy. What a little sweetie pie- ya' know? Just a goofy dude, out here giving a shit. Listening to a lot of Stevie Wonder. Have you ever tried being sad listening to Stevie Wonder? Try it. Throw on I Was Made to Love Her, and try frowning. You can't. Impossible. Staying open, especially when it's hard, that's the hard part of all this.

I need to reach out to my old friend. It might not go well, but that's not something I can control. We can't just keep almost bumping into each other, and not saying anything. It's not a turf war, and we're both adults. I guess my thing is that she's a writer, and she knows that you're supposed to "show not tell." I wanted to show her I was getting better, not just tell her. Maybe we're not at the place to be friends again yet, but we should at least talk. Got to find some free time to talk. The girl at the newsstand thinks it's a sign we should talk. Maybe she's right.

#blog #self love #self hatred #growth #depression #literature #hope #superman #nihilism #stevie wonder #assimilation #identity

[fulloflovingechoes]

I often wake up with thoughts that race.

It feels like it's against my will. I will wake up with thoughts about something or more often than not: someone. It's like it's the first thing my brain wants to think about. It takes a moment to arrange myself. A few deep breaths and a reinforcement of some facts of the matter: they can't hurt you anymore, they don't like you like that, they aren't your friend anymore, you're doing all you can do about that now. It's a few moments before my eyes open.

It took me a very long time to realize that suffering was well within my control. Not in the "get over your depression!" type of beat you're fed, but a "fuck I have to try and enjoy life don't I?" kind of way. Depression and anxiety will consolidate your agony into a big ole comfy blankey. A place of familiarity and false safety. The skills I have to cope are unrefined. That being said, music tends to help. Most of my life I listened to sad boy bullshit, which still hits and I still listen to with less frequency. But now I spend most of my time listening to music to keep my ear and my mind busy with some sort of upbeat. So I've been making a lot of upbeat playlists to keep my mood right.

A lot of this is just staying busy, isn't it? I walk most places due to not having a license. My city's public transportation system is fucking garbage, and even with the bus it involves a fair amount of walking. I walked from one end of the city to the other yesterday just to drop off some movies before hanging out with my friends. It's important to stay a little cluttered. Hands in pots, and minimal downtime means I don't have time to worry about the things that I shouldn't. I can fill the interim with tunes. Was it David Foster Wallace that spoke about boredom in being the thing we have to reconcile with in modern era? Should i read that fucking book?

#blog

[fulloflovingechoes]

To Wong Foo, Thanks For Everything! Julie Newmar —1995, dir. Beeban Kidron

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BOTTOMS + trivia

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I fully understand that this is a very silly thing to get nitpicky about, but: no, the 1987 West German urban fantasy film Wings of Desire does not imply that Columbo, the character, is an angel who's taken human form. It implies that Peter Falk, the actor who plays Columbo, is an angel who's taken human form. If we're going to indulge in metafictional crankery, let's at least get it right!

[fulloflovingechoes]

I need a place

This is a place that I will use to blog. I prefer something more analog, like an actual journal/ diary/ whatever, but this suits me fine. At the very least, this place will be my dumping ground. I find it easier to just unload into the ether like this. A black hole in the internet that's just for me, and some stray lurkers who go drudging through the mud. There is less commitment. Ain't that just the way. I used Tumblr in HS, and that was a very long time ago. It's different here now.

Maybe it's a good excuse to get my writing up, maybe it's a good place to put my anonymous thoughts down. I have art that I want to make before my time here is done, and I think an anonymous place to post is important. Scrutiny without valued eyes? More easily dismissed. Safer failure, maybe? I can tell you things I can't say otherwise, because you don't actually exist. You do not, and can not, know me.

I'm writing the outline for a script right now- or at least, I'm supposed to be. This is my way of procrastinating. Writing without writing. Low commitment commitment. Later I'm helping a friend out with cleaning their place. I care about them very deeply, and there are things I'm not saying to them. I feel guilty about that.

These past couple of years have been hard. My suffering is mostly self inflicted, as suffering often is. The wounds are real, I just keep them open. I have been a rat bastard to a lot of people and instead of developing myself I let my shame fester and mold over. People could start to smell the stink, and a lot of important people in my life took off. I don't blame them, but this past year was a wake up call. I figured it was high time I spent some hours working on me and when I'm feeling generous I allow myself the tiny kindness of peace. I'm in therapy, maybe the tone of these blogs will change the deeper I delve and more skills I develop.

I got back from a trip not too long ago that really gave me perspective on things. Made me realize how much of me is determined by the architecture that surrounds me. The city I'm in doesn't lend itself to people very well, but I've always had a soft spot for it. A world needs to be lived in, not receded from. So, as one of my biggest fears, I engage with you THE INTERNET. As safely as I can, for now. Maybe this Venn diagram of self will coalesce and my inner and outer selves will reconcile, and I will be holistic.

As for now, I should get as much as I can done on this outline. I have friends who see more in me than I do, and I owe it to them and myself to see it too, and see it through.

#blog