creativity down.

a million fireflies choking on atmosphere.

I have no comprehension of words right now,
just the use of them - though ill advised.
I wouldn't call it writers block, more..
endless listlessness?
like, I can't be bothered to come up with
anything particularly clever to say,
even when I desperately wish to.

canopies of snow, branched out into the sky.

if I were a painter, I'd probably slop
paint onto a canvas, without any real purpose.
kind of like that feeling where you feel anything
you do is going to be shit anyway, so maybe
shit can be a worthwhile angle for whatever
you're doing.
only not really.

awkwardly disappointed, the pious man sighs.

meaningless scribbles of existence,
splattered all over everything.
if my IQ were higher, or even much, much
lower, I wonder if I'd be considered a
genius? probably not, but a thought is
a thought. we can throw pennies at them.

blah blah other stuff - goodnight.

ps

a smile of a thousand sunrises,
squeeze my hand ever so slightly.
I wish it was within my capabilities,
to write something worthwhile -
something worth your time.
to write, to draw, to create
something that even scratches the
surface of who you are.
to validate my existence in your life.

goodnight, goodnight.

blah.

today:
hm.

also, almost got into a couple of collisions.
people don't realize that speeding + snow = bad.
furthermore, if you walk in the snow, don't stand
in the way of the fucking cars. they don't want
to be going 25 in a 30 lane as is, and having to
slow down to 5 because YOU want to walk on the icy
road instead of on the snowy sidewalk and NOT get
out of the way doesn't make anyone happy.
don't flip off two tons of steel on wheels,
or throw snowballs at it, you won't like it if
it bites.
drama with blood people. annoyance.

however I did get to see my best friend.
that was neat.

hm.
today could've gone infinitely better,
but oh well. I wish I could write this with
stuff like wit.. and edginessicity, or whatever.
actually, I don't wish that.
I don't feel like thinking,
it'll get me started on other topics.

blah bleh bloo.
goodnight, is most likely.

leave me be.

feeling blank
heavy doors are the most difficult to close in a storm,
and a crisis of life can be fleeting.
ring ring ring,
you keep calling me,
you keep scritch scratching your way inside.

to be shell shocked and dropped,
cutting me open with a syndrome of endless you's.
is contentment so far away from me?
to freeze me in time for your convenience,
and come knocking whenever you wish,
what is the definition of cruelty?
hearing your voice,
smelling your smell,
feeling your touch,
it makes me sweat tar.
I lock myself away from you,
to save the queasy feeling
the blur of vision and tangling of organs.

you are my virus,
I want you gone.
I wont ever enjoy you,
not like I did.
fade away, stop calling.
your voice is a prison,
an illness of mine.
I want it gone.

tonight?

I am joyful.

Your smile is a sunrise, or so I'd like to say.
Perhaps I will. Say that, that is.

I've had adventures into happiness country
off and on over the past year and a half.
Polka dotting my life with contentment and
happy sighs, but the tunnel was always ahead.

And every foray into "relationshipland" I've
had for the past year and a half, the tunnel
has always been in plain sight.
Not this time.
We feel what we should,
we care about what we think,
we have chemistry, as they say.
And they should say, as should I.

This adventure, trip, leave to our own personal,
and very much abandoned island, it will be
a new page - chapter - whatever.
I can't pretend to know how it'll read,
or how it'll end.
I can just hope for a good story,
happy, and hopefully long.

And if you're reading this, which you may,
I don't know..
I'm excited for tonight :]
<3

for you?

melt into my embrace
we stand on the corner of today and tomorrow,
the way is paved with countless yesterdays.
be my soliloquy,
who I am, you recite it to me
you thaw my heart, and I sigh
as you trace the edges of my soul,
leaving ripples in my existence.
let this winter romance bloom wildly,
green and red rips through the white and blue,
our fingers wrap around each other,
I smile to me, to you.
and sweet sweet sweetheart,
be my sunshine in the cold.
dear dear dearest darling,
be my sanctuary in madness.

teach me to smile again,
remind me how to hold you,
show me why I kiss you.

let the curtains draw,
let tomorrow come quicker,
let life happen.

goodnight.

the right to stupidity.

People say things online that they wouldn't dream of saying in life.
Sometimes I admire that kind of cowardice, because I often get into
some kind of trouble for voicing my opinions, and pointing out all
of the logic and facts that back me up.
I can make a very reasonable argument when I'm backed into a corner.
However, if I - for some reason - feel myself losing, I'll default to
common human nature and use cheap language and irrational points to
win an argument.
It's always a very..
I'm right, you're wrong, kind of thing.
I don't argue with everyone, I let a lot slide to be honest. Let's face it,
I kind of have to. There are arguments worth winning, and others that
aren't worth my time.. Well, a lot that aren't worth my time.

Politics, religion, morality, it's all very fickle.
From a more or less.. outside point of view, I must point out
that there's more grey in the foreground than any of us would
like to admit. The notion that everything is completely black
and white, while ideal, is foolish. Completely stupid, and naive.

To say most things are one hundred percent correct, or incorrect,
you may as well say the sun is very definitely black, and the moon
is indeed made of cheese.
The lengths we'll go to set idiocy in stone, it's incomprehensible.
It's said that the definition of insanity is to repeat an action
over and over, and to expect a different outcome than the one you
get every single time.
I feel on some small level, it's written into our humanity to do
so with our beliefs, our thoughts on the way things "should be"
rather than the way they are.

We're in a state of constant deception, and it's no wonder why
we fight so much amongst ourselves.
Cookie cutter education, plastic wrapped religion, and mass produced
politicians are the way things are done.
We complain more about the way things are done than we complain about
the outcome, unless the outcome affects us directly. It's the simple
diagnosis of hypocritical intent that makes us so utterly unique.

Humanity is at the top of Earth's food chain, we are all Kings and Queens in
our own minds, completely narcissistic regardless of how we feel about ourselves.

My topic is being diluted.

Ahem,

The state of affairs is thus,

The internet is a reigning monster of the collaboration of stupidity.
Everyone has an opinion, and it's rarely correct - that's why it's an opinion.
These opinions are fed to us through our peers, our parents at birth, our
friends growing up, our teachers and counselors et cetera before we're ready
to form our own ideas.
Everything is premoulded, sculpted in another's image. Few of our thoughts
are original to us, no matter how much we wish to think so. I would be
delusional to think all the nonsensical garbage I cough up anywhere is
all from within myself.
We imprint, impress, and immortalize twisted conceptions of reality,
and what we want more than anything is for everyone to believe the same
things, for everyone to realize that they're wrong, and we're right.
It starts arguments on the playground, and wars in our "sophisticated" and
so very maturely grown up world.

And so we use the internet.
We spout bullshit we heard from someone that knows someone all over the place,
expecting instant gratification. Some of us are just wanting to start shit,
but many of us believe the garbage we let ourselves say.
I'll be honest, I look back and know for fact I've said some idiotic things,
and haven't proceeded to repeat them since.
But we hear a rumour about a rock star selling drugs to children, and even
if it's not true, we have societies built of white maternity attempting to
save their fradgile children from our worlds evils by exclaiming valiantly:
"DNT LISTN 2 THS SHIT, HE SELLS DRUGS 2 KIDS" and et cetera.

We bash on political figures, we idolize big strong Hollywood actors,
and we fear the evils overseas. We claim there is no evil at home.
We also claim everything at home is evil.
I suppose it depends on who you choose to listen to,
the Christian or the Anarchist.

Regardless, as always, I'm not sure where my thoughts are, I'm just letting
my fingers slap words around a bit.

Call this.. Typing until the irritated feeling you get when someone says
something blatantly stupid due to being misinformed, and doesn't have the
sense or decency to find out the facts before they start spouting shit
online.. Disappears.

Can't complain, kinda helped.

Have a very merry xmas.

language.

language is a butcher shop
words strung up by their big toes
skinned, tenderized, chopped.
the choice cut is glistening
creative, organized, well executed.
the typical variety festers
left over, gritty, cheap.

language is a clay
clay to shape and shift
clay to sculpt and impress upon.
looking glass into my soul,
see my faults and spasms,
you distrust it.

language is treasure
language is garbage.
we squander it,
we abuse it,
we misuse it,
we misunderstand
til it's banned.

no one is willing to admit their obvious stupidity.
their spastic nature, finger painting scars all over their personality.
not the lack of capitalization, as much as overuse of.
not the lack of punctuation, as much as the misuse of.

we pretend to pour our hearts, our souls into these letters,
these letters that make up words, that make up sentences,
that are supposed to make up thoughts but always come up.. incomplete.
you don't know what you want,
and don't get me wrong,
neither do I.

but to feign confidence through the abuse of words,
is it ignorant? is it because you want to appear less..
intelligent?

oxford says it's impossible to count how many words are in the english language,
if only because we don't know what constitutes something as a word;

"Is dog one word, or two (a noun meaning 'a kind of animal',
and a verb meaning 'to follow persistently')?"

skimming to the end, you find it to continue;

"If distinct senses were counted, the total would
probably approach three quarters of a million."

and even in a society built on one hundred words
we would find ways to trash them. maybe it'd be easier.
there is stupidity in the air.
false confidence, as we desperately attempt to hide,
as we desperately store away what makes us vulnerable,
human.
we say "get the fuck outta muh face, dis is my town ;)"
like anyone is actually listening.

though.. I listen. and all I hear is "help".
it's giving me a headache.
language.

language is a headache.
it's a crying baby in a restaurant.
an obnoxious audience member in a theater.
whether it's understanding or not,
we find it to be a headache,
a way to fuel our spite.

language is our curse,
and it separates us.

it separates us more than colour,
more than religion,
more than politics,
more than anything.
it's the silent killer.
language, that is.

my honestly reevaluated title.

trinkets of my love for you,
I listen to Frank Sinatra sing sweet carols of the xmas season
oh faithful friend, hark at the sign of reluctant joy.
exclaim! I do, I must, I shall twist and twirl you about
as you are my angel, sweet sweet serendipity.
shout from the rooftops!
a basement blooming with susurration.

you are my glory, bastion of hope and serenity
joyfully I shout, shout, shout I must
I must shout, for how else would you know
my existence so sublime, so thoughtfully full
so irrefutably solid, tangible, feel my heart beat.
pumping blood to every finger and toe
every atom and cell lights up in my mind
a human tree of xmas.

oh mistletoe, I tie missiles to my toes,
kiss me under moonlight, as we launch
as we pass o'er thee moon
lips lock, adrenaline shatters
and it's a merry merry xmas
awkward merry brawrkward.

absence

oh shit.

I'm supposed to be talking to you every day.
about anything...

even about the pudding I thought I might like
to have like... three weeks ago. how old is this?

since I'm happy, I'm shoving myself around with
a bunch of careless tom foolery.
and then I shall celebrate the season.
and make love.. to eggnog.
I love me some eggnog.

let the cheer begin as I count down to xmas.

and for all you humbuggers that tell me xmas
isn't a way of sucking the importance from
christmas (replacing christ with an x, which
in greek can translate to christ)
I should point out that greek is a dead language.
and no one gives a shit.

meaning that right now, xmas might as well be
the way non christians relate to christmas.
no one cares about logic when it comes to words,
because words are extremely irrational.

I hate your face,
your face that's full of hate,
I dislike your dispassionate lies,
your body of irregular size,
plural flamboyance on the side.

Goodnight, goodnight.

talk tomorrow? pft.

you wouldn't know it

but I'm talking shit about you to your face.

you're stupid.

and fat.

and ugly.

and gross.

and skinny.

and annoying.

and too quiet.

and too loud.

and too full of life,

and of death.

also, you stink of moldy cheeses.

bravo, me.

new aged cramping

stylized rutabaga romping.
flash cinematically incorrection.
improper use of the word "frugal".
also, I dropped off your heart,
it says "hi, I'm Timothy" way too much.

frivolous is a neat word,
it rolls of the tongue like a tiny wheel,
one that I put in my mouth to try and..
roll it.. off.. my tongue.

Sometimes diving headfirst into disorganization is the only way to become real, but we don't realize this because we're too busy organizing around the edges. Throwing down a vocabombular heap of vomit is more or less unthinkable to most all people above - and below - the age of infinity.
We're so attached to the very thing most of us try so hard to escape, order, that we don't realize what freedom from it actually means.

I wonder if I should study Psychology in college? No, I shouldn't. I should freely observe people for the rest of my life and pretend I know best like everyone else, because it's cheaper, easier, and better for my ego.

Anyway, I'm not sure what I'm writing about, I'm just writing to write. I feel like it's easier than going in for a cramped topic like abortion, or religion. I've already discussed those at length, I feel like there's nothing new and exciting to talk about - just old things with new wrappers.
So I'm just going to systematically puke on my blog until things assimilate into thoughts.

Rhododendron is another cool word,

goodnight.

new new blog

the old blog was without direction, inspiration, and other tion's.
that's a lie, actually, it had a direction: rant.
rant, rave, ravage the topics of man (sexually, probably not).

without missing a step, or deleting the previous grouping of words,
I'd like to restart. the problem with the previous blog was that it
had a direction, one that was far too narrow.
so I had to axe the singular rant, to make way for an utterly directionless
beast of thought, plowing through the black hole that is the internet.

more like, I rant, and do other things.
er.
say other things?

yes. say other things.
rubbish.

new post, title

here I go, writing away
things without periods
why, you ask?
because I decided against it

since this is the first post,
in a series of one (possibly)
[my inner child thought it would
have been funny if I said pissibly]
{more brackets}
I've decided to inform you,
on the subject of me

I write how I want
about what I want
when I want

I can be a bastard
an absurd cynic
I'm definitely egotistical

girls think I'm cute
and smart
and stuff

and they're right,
I am smart
I don't know how smart
probably just enough

but definitely not enough to use a period