2005-12-18 - 12:05 p.m.
"Throw your words like an attack and stab me in the - wait a second, wait a second - what's that I just heard? Never mind. It's obviously worthless." - The Juliana Theory, "If I Told You This Was Killing Me, Would You Stop?"
Don't worry. You're just a melodramatic mess.
You're not proud of who you are, and you shouldn't be. You're who you've always been, through time series, through changes, through snapped synapses and skinned knees, through every time you thought you'd die. And you can't help it. If you want to be someone different, it's a conscious decision, and that's still part of you. You're not someone new. You're not the shit, you're the one who cries herself to sleep when things get too rough.
"You ain't no delicate flower, that's for sure." So sayeth the paternal unit. It's true; you ain't delicate, but you sure as hell can't claim too much emotional strength, either. You see the problems, but you can't solve 'em. You can't change other people, and you wouldn't want to wield that power anyway. Fuck. Let's dance in the big ovals. Skank. Slam dance. Get the hell away from me. Corrupt. Corrode. Terse.
"The flesh is always softer on the other side of the fence. The arguments at home have gotten a bit tense." - Contra, "What's Thicker Than Blood?"
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