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I had this epiphany at some point in the last few years. Probably in the last two. I was working very hard to be someone that I thought I was, or should be. It was exhausting. I realized that I had no idea if that person was real or not. She was certainly hard to please. Difficult to maintain. Unsatisfied with everything I did or said. Maybe that wasn’t really who I was. So, late in the game and with far less energy to give to the project, I have decided to find out who I actually am. Be who I *want* to be, as opposed to who I was told to be. Listen to my Self and respond to that as opposed to beating the hell out of her for interrupting.
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This happens on a regular basis these days!
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WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DON’T LIKE BON IVER?
THAT DOESN’T EVEN MAKE SENSE! HIS EXPERIMENTAL YET RUSTIC CHAMBER POP IS AKIN TO A FOREST LULLABY!
PITCHFORK GAVE HIM A 9.5! A 9.5 OUT OF 10!
THE SCALE ONLY GOES TO TEN!
WHAT YOU’RE ADMITTING IS TANTAMOUNT TO SOCIAL SUICIDE!
WHAT’S NEXT, A BIKE WITH GEARS? SENSIBLE FOOTWEAR?
BOW TO THE PREVAILING TASTE CONSENSUS!
CONFORM TO A COMMODIFIED RUSE OF INDIVIDUALISM AND AUTHENTIC PREDISPOSITION OR GET OUT OF THIS TOWN!
IS THIS SOME KIND OF PERFORMANCE ART, OR POLITICAL DISSENT? BECAUSE THEN IT MIGHT BE OKAY!
I JUST DON’T FIND IT ALL THAT AMAZING! CAN’T I PREFER RECORDS THAT I PERSONALLY CONNECT WITH AND ENJOY?
NO, THAT’S RIDICULOUS!
JOIN US OR DIE!
For Mike
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NOW IS THE TIME. THIS IS THE HOUR. OURS IS THE MAGIC. OURS IS THE POWER.
NOW IS THE TIME. THIS IS THE HOUR. OURS IS THE MAGIC. OURS IS THE POWER.
NOW IS THE TIME. THIS IS THE HOUR. OURS IS THE MAGIC. OURS IS THE POWER.
THE SAME UNDERNEATH AS IT IS ON TOP.
… THAT CAN’T BE THE WAY THAT GOES, SARAH.
IT’S SOMETHING LIKE THAT.
YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO MEMORIZE THE RITUAL BOOK.
I KEEP FORGETTING IT IN MY LOCKER.
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Apparently there’s a recall of some beef products in the city due to E-Coli.
If I should die as a result of eating this beef stew,
tell my family…
… not to touch my stuff.
It’s booby trapped.
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MMMPH. GGGHHHHHKKK! HNNNNNNNNMMMG.
… WHAT ARE ALL THOSE TERRIBLE NOISES?
THE ONES YOU’RE MAKING? I DON’T KNOW.
NO, THE STABBY BAD ONES.
THEY’RE BIRDS. CHIRPING.
I HATE THEM. WHAT IS THAT HORRIBLE GLOW?
THE SUN. IT’S NOON.
CAN YOU PLEASE SHUT IT OFF? IT’S ATROCIOUS AND INVASIVE.
IT’S BENEVOLENT AND NECESSARY FOR LIFE.
CAN YOU AT LEAST SHUT OFF THE DIRBS?
BIRDS, AND NO. I HOPE THIS TEACHES YOU A VALUABLE LESSON ABOUT BUYING WINE AT 7-11.
I AM SO FULL OF REGRETS. I AM SORRY FOR ALL THE THINGS.
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DAD, IS EVERYTHING THE LIGHT TOUCHES OUR KINGDOM?
WHAT ARE YOU, AN IDIOT? THE LIGHT IS THE SUN, BOBBY. IT TOUCHES A LOT OF SHIT. I MAKE TWENTY GRAND A YEAR. OUR ‘KINGDOM’ IS 600 SQUARE FEET WITH A BROKEN AIR CONDITIONER AND YOUR MOM RULES IT, NOT ME OR YOU.
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I DIDN’T KNOW WHAT KIND OF CAKE YOU WANTED SO I GOT YOU MEATBALLS.
THERE ISN’T ANY SAUCE BECAUSE THE CAN OPENER IS BROKEN.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY.
For Gunnar
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WHEN I WAS YOUR AGE WE DIDN’T HAVE IPHONES AND THE HULU AND ALL THAT SHIT. WE WENT OUTSIDE! WE DRANK BOONESFARM AND HAD REALLY BAD SEX IN VOLKSWAGENS! WE DID COCAINE THAT WAS PROBABLY ALL BABY POWDER AND CRUSHED UP ASPIRIN, LIKE NORMAL TEENAGERS!
YOU EVER THROW UP ON A COP? YOU EVER BURN DOWN A 7-11? OF COURSE NOT, YOU’RE ON TUMBLR ALL DAY. PANSY.
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