"There is no mystery to it. Your heart’s desire is to be told some mystery. The mystery is that there is no mystery."
Blood Meridian, by Cormac McCarthy

im struggling for reasons and all im coming up with is cat
this month is fucked
i cant do, i dont want to do
i want to lie down, i want to scream and set myself on fire
i want my last glimpse of existence to be a wood floor, or chipping paint
a cooking pot on its side
i dont want helen to see, but thats a very human thought
she wouldnt care
the more drug-fueled cathartic moments that i cram into my life
the more detached i become from the natural human need to be alive
it matters less and less
like dying would start off a vacation but once i start driving i realize im moving
and my reaction would be
huh
okay
and then im gone
the ultimate defiance in the face of the crushing void of existence is to remove yourself without its consent, to shout IM LEAVING NOW and just go

swampgallows:

the insomnia express has just reached hallucination station
swampgallows:

the insomnia express has just reached hallucination station

swampgallows:

the insomnia express has just reached hallucination station

(Source: excursio)

"…and you drink a little too much and try a little too hard. And you go home to a cold bed and think, ‘That was fine’. And your life is a long line of fine."
— Gillian Flynn (via ohdreaming)

(Source: uglypnis)

Hmm….. Hmm…..

Hmm…..

I’m going to a fucking rockabilly barbershop to get my Nathan Detroit on because my director and my boss are conspiring dicks. So get ready for smooth shaved and pompadour, pictures to follow for whoever cares.

I’m leaning pretty hard toward quitting my job and going to grad school. I’m not really cut out for this kind of work, and realizing how much I miss academia is pushing me more and more.
Just wanted to write it down somewhere.

Pageant culture creeps my shit out.