A smattering of thoughts I guess.
Or just things? Fucked if I know.
Emotionally I'm fucking tons better, so that's nice. Went back to typing again and I'm sitting at 112wpm. Trying to organize my playlists is going to be the death of me but I wouldn't have it any other way. Loving new music, and sharing that music with people and just fucking enjoying it is probably one of the true-est things in my life.
Been thinking about life and death a lot recently, it weighs but I refuse to contemplate the future too hard. In other ways it makes me think as well about music, there is a story there - a song created from a moment or feeling. It meant something personal to the creator, but in every moment since then it has woven into the background of the lives of others. Become anthems and heartbreak, the sounds of joy and love and in those instances it means something different to each and every person. To me songs are like journal pages, I imagine them bound together by the twine of life and covered in scribbles and coffee rings. Signatures left over from the people who shared them with me, leaving an indelible and permanent imprint on the fabric of my psyche. People I've talked to once that I will always remember because of a song, the songs I sang with my mother in a different time as different people. Coffee stains and dog ears, the emotions and the moments - music is the scrapbook of myself and it comes entirely from the stories and feelings of others.
I wonder sometimes at my relationships with people, some of my relationships are so fucking long. When they matter they're seemingly forever. I can't even fail at a relationship in less than a couple years. My roomie has been my friend since birth, though we've gone through tough times. Knowing me is not an act of brevity, also I think that probably means I don't let go well.
The world is... fuck me. How do you discuss what the world is currently? It's heartbreaking and there is such a sense of helpless rage sometimes. Why do we hate so goddamned much? Build those walls saying only care about x or y, dehumanize people or ethnic groups. No it's not worse than it's ever been, that's a fairy tale with glasses most certainly rose tinted. It has always been shitty, it will always BE shitty because people are hard pressed to accept equality with the innate desire to be better, at least in my opnion. It doesn't mean we can't try though, can't reach out a hand when the opportunity strikes and speak up when it needs to be done.
I have goals for this year, the most eh.. normal one I suppose is regarding flexibility. I want to be able to do a standing split more forward, so that someone would be able to take an ankle and lead me into a split. Tricks and contrivances made to amuse I guess, but still fun. And there is joy in showing people a fat girl can do something, people frustrate me with how little they think I can do. Baseline flexibilty when I got the idea to learn? Placing my leg up on the wall while standing and my feet being above eye level. I do splits and backbends and all sorts of things so FUCK YOU for thinking I can't do something. You may not see my value but I line my bones with tricks and hold them close and warm.
Realization also comes from taking a long ass look at how I write, vaguebooking man. Vague-fucking-booking. I fill pages with inane ramblings, or take a while to circle to the point when something is tender and scary to talk about, because the vulnerability in those words scares me. The attempt to be precise and pinpoint something is laborous, and wholly uncomfortable in how open and naked it leaves you. I have been told that talking to me about causes for things is like a verbal spiderweb, but is that not the truth of a cause or reason? Rarely formed without threads tying it to the actions of the past - a reason or a history or even a reaction if told truthfully and if it impacted meaningfully is very telling indeed. I'm broken on the inside, not the outside. The outside is foulmouthed, vague, full of snark and innuendo and humor, or haunting the edges of the room with walls a mile thick. Response though is not about the action, it is about what the action stirred. The response to a poem or a movie or a play whatever, that will not entirely be based in whatever was being done - it's comprised of how it hits you. And when the impact is really there, to explain why or what or how it makes you feel is to lay bare the deepest parts of you and explain your own motives. Or I dunno, it seems?
Beer, beer is good.
I still want to dance with someone, maybe this year? But there are so many other changes coming this year. I don't know that I'll write more here for a good long while, I think perhaps it traps me in the shitty things rather than helps bring me out.