i remember rising with the yokosuka sun. when i arrived in japan, the cherry blossoms had only begun to bloom. we lived walking distance to the sea, and small mountains enclosed our house. i saw the trees blooming and watched the petals drift seemingly endlessly down. they covered the ground with white and pink in little, fragile specks. gutters were filled with rain water pushing pink petals to the sea.
i always wanted a tattoo of a cherry blossom tree blooming up my side in japanese watercolor styled artistry.
i remember seeing fresh snow blanket the streets of krakow. this old and busy town sucked me in, and i believed i belonged in some dark, smoky cafe in poland. it was a lovely place with an infectious culture. it suited my dark and depressive nature quite well. the language was brutal, and the people were mostly unaccepting. people didn't smile at each other as they passed by. the city was cold, and while it was constantly moving, in many ways it was standing still. after spending a year there, i can only speak a handful of polish words.
the man i left behind forever in poland has my name scratched into his chest.
so many memories hurt. they haunt and taunt me. i find myself possibly single again and in my old hometown. seems like i never left most of the time. seems like i'm the only one who has changed. i expect other people to change and to grow, and thus i find myself constantly and consistently disappointed. mainly the negative feelings in life harbor creativity in me... so in this way, being disappointed and being alone and being scarred by the past all fuel the darkness of inspiration into a fiery bloom. i hate it and i love it at the same time. so i say, let's slit our wrists and burn down something beautiful.
i always wanted a tattoo of a cherry blossom tree blooming up my side in japanese watercolor styled artistry.
i remember seeing fresh snow blanket the streets of krakow. this old and busy town sucked me in, and i believed i belonged in some dark, smoky cafe in poland. it was a lovely place with an infectious culture. it suited my dark and depressive nature quite well. the language was brutal, and the people were mostly unaccepting. people didn't smile at each other as they passed by. the city was cold, and while it was constantly moving, in many ways it was standing still. after spending a year there, i can only speak a handful of polish words.
the man i left behind forever in poland has my name scratched into his chest.
so many memories hurt. they haunt and taunt me. i find myself possibly single again and in my old hometown. seems like i never left most of the time. seems like i'm the only one who has changed. i expect other people to change and to grow, and thus i find myself constantly and consistently disappointed. mainly the negative feelings in life harbor creativity in me... so in this way, being disappointed and being alone and being scarred by the past all fuel the darkness of inspiration into a fiery bloom. i hate it and i love it at the same time. so i say, let's slit our wrists and burn down something beautiful.
VIEW 5 of 5 COMMENTS
probably says more about the writer than the subject, atleast in my case, but its nice to see an internationally esteemed thinker go about it in a way i can relate to.
haven't been doing this stuff as often for both good and bad amazing reasons, but thanks for teaching me invaluable skills for surviving my 3 months in this looney bin.
hope you are doing whatever suits you and feeling good about it atm
got on some new prescriptions and like to think i'm not as spergin'.
let us know how you doin, dearie!!!