A blessing and a curse.
I spend most of my waking moments filling up the quiet with just about anything. Walk into my room at any given moment, and you’ll find me in my room on my laptop, with mp3s on shuffle and the TV on.
But when everything goes off, you can find me in my bed, staring through the ceiling, past the dry wall and plaster into the endless night sky, tracing my thoughts in the atmosphere.
With no real purpose.
It’s like, once the white noise is gone, the flood gates open, and the cumulative experience of my years come rushing to the forefront. Every major decision, minor little details about a person’s odd habit of leaning a little too close when he spoke that day, the burning sound when I inhaled smoke from a capone, it’s all there, along with a dozen little voices, dissecting each thought and idea.
I like it sometimes. I make some of my best judgments in the brief, yet eternal moments before slumber takes me. In a sense, it’s almost as if I rediscover myself every night.
I also hate it. I’m reminded of everything that hurts, like my subconscious mind is picking at a scab absently, constantly exposing the raw flesh underneath, recreating wounds that take that much longer to heal.
Melancholy is ever-so bittersweet.
One of the only common denominators between the girls that I’ve ever expressed interest in is that they all had REALLY pretty eyes. And not even like they had particularly exoticly colored ones either. Just regular deep brown eyes. I feel like it’s one of the low key weirdest turn-ons ever. What the fuck am I gonna do with somebody’s eyes??
I wrote something like this before.
Dem eyes be sexy, moe.
Tickets to The Roots show are sold out.
Got caught loafin’.
Edit: Wait… nope. Found ‘em.
Few things sound better waking up, than some fresh instrumental albums.
And since I’m not doing the school thing for awhile, I might as well invest more into this music thing.
To build and maintain our own businesses, support each other, and profit together as a whole.
i.e. How to take over the world.
Cooperative Work & Responsibility.
To define, name, create, and stand up for ourselves.
i.e. What few of us tend to do unless something catchy like #Occupy comes around.
United as family, community, and race.
i.e. - What we could still use today.
I’ve still got these secret gifts to give out.
I fucking hate you for adding a porno in the folder with your mixtape.
The season has begun.
I’m stalking through my boy’s tumblr right now.
Which… apparently, was not a good idea. Because it’s potent with a lot of the things I’ve been feeling for the past year, and it’s making me want to start releasing all of these posts I’ve got in my drafts.
But I don’t feel like opening that chapter back up yet.
Maybe next year, when I’m feeling a little more distant.
When pretending not to give a shit becomes the real thing.
Hindsight is 20/20.
I wish foresight was too.
If you absolutely have to be the bad guy, be a world renowned, globe-trotting, genius level psychopathic villain like Moriarty.
Your badass meter will be that much higher.
Spoiler Alert: It’s awesome.
Go watch it.
Stroll in the house after an exhausting 2 a.m. skate session.
Find out there are no snacks in the house.
speakingofrivers replied to your post: I see a plethora of Zoe Saldana reblogs every time…
I read the first sentence and thought you were going to provide some profound commentary on beauty ideals and our obsession with celebrity. I should have known….
And if they ain’t thick, a nice pair of boobs will suffice.
That is all.
I see a plethora of Zoe Saldana reblogs every time I start scrolling down the dashboard, and I can’t help but wonder why people are so deeply in love with her.
I mean, sure, she has a pretty face, I guess. And she can kinda sorta act.
But she has absolutely no body, whatsoever.
Not even a lil’ lady lump.
Maybe I’m alone in this, but I like for my fantasy ladies to be working with a little something; at the very least, one of three things.
- Thick thighs (lawd Jesus)
- Two In The Shirt (A cups need not apply)
- ‘dat ASS (‘nuff said)
Zoe has not one of these.
Plus, she was Nick fuckin’ Cannon’s love interest in Drumline, so her sex appeal score drops drastically.
At least Christina Milian had some curves that almost made me forget about Love Don’t Cost A Thing.
You ever try to kill a fly before?
It’s incredibly difficult.
Kudos to whoever managed to kill that many. And to use their corpses in such creative display? Genius.