An Unloved's Rejoice.

I realise that love isn't all that splendid. I took my time in realizing that didn't I.

I'm a romantic, but only in love with the idea of love. Nothing more. Love is too complicated, and i'm not up for any more complications in my life.

Love should be simple. Like good home cooked food, and hugs.  Like footsteps walking on paths. 

Like Sunflowers.

Love should be un-complicated. No more searching. I like the peace, and i like the quiet.

I like my silence, and i like being alone, having the world to myself for a while.

... This should be interesting.

Breaking Fragile Items, To You.

Whilst throwing around some rather incredulous words at people, i'd like to say:

People try to understand you, and they're trying to reach out for you. We are listening for solutions, and all the hanging cranes and cds and planes are only momentary lapses. 

This is a letter to you, of impossible things to come. It's not a warning, or a welcome. It's not anything at all, but a smile.

Mixtapes and mash-ups are the only thing that matter to you, and that's what is so beautiful.

Just make sure that you're safe.

I just want you home, happy.

TrainWrecker

Impulsively, crammed into a corner, black and white filtering the eyes. Staring at innocuous figures from the metal confines. A misshapen line separates the dark from what would be light. A near equal passing of the mind. Wave. Smile. Snap. Click. It moves on.

And a blue light filters across the stage, along with its lines and wires in serpentine fashion, sprawling like disease. It is needed disease. They speak 'We are what you need.' Bare feet running, as glittering girls stalk, following a hopeful answer. Follow the lines. Strangling. Straggling. Doped up. Confusion. Blare.
The light carries on.

Peace is a blurred vision, shadowing a stark backdrop. If only the hands could dial and focus. If only a blurred vision was beautiful. To take a hold and shake violently an absence of shock, creating extremities   within the mentality of faith. A likeness of a paranoid spider, of a courageous plant. There is nothing. Whispering. If only. If only. Decay.

All the while, dead bodies float and collapse. Cold and alone, children cry out, tired and incapable. There is no thought anymore. Enough of the world, enough to drop into the grey, the lines, the peace. Quietly caressing the tiled ground. Ultimately fallen. Defenseless. Asleep. Sleep. Surrender.

Distractions for Daniel F.

i see sunshine. shadows flitting on the ground. flashing of monitors. unclean hands. papers everywhere.

i hear cars rushing. i hate that noise now. the fridge humming. mens oafish yelling.

i smell bitter smells. cigarette smoke. soap. washed hair. salt stained skin.

i type on everything. comment on everything. force myself outside.

i need distractions.

i need distractions.

but it doesn't drown one thing.

... Why wasn't i there for you.

Blog.

If you aren't reading my blog, there's obviously something very wrong with you.

Block Your Ears, We're Going Down...

I hate how when you try to block something out, it always finds a way in.

How you try to block that flow of words.

Those words that are able to hit where it hurts, to injure more so those already injured spots.

And i just want to slap the bitch.

I know how to block myself from people now.

It's a liberating feeling.

A Short Summary.

This is me.

Dag.

This is what i do.

And hope to pursue.

This is one of my favourite places.

Silence and a view.

This is what I need everyday.

Or else i will die.

This is what I want. 

*drool*

This is always good on a hot day.

Or cold.

This is my favourite Transformer.

*faints*

Zoooooooooooom!

Fin.