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you need to watch this

Misanthropy

a general dislike, distrust, disgust, contempt or hatred of the human species, human nature or society. A mistrustful scorn for humankind.
Perfect for describing me on this foggy, freezing cold, useless morning. Cynical, grumpy misanthropist. Hopefully some coffee will help me pass through it.
As I said before, my life is getting quite turbulent and chaotic lately, but gladly this one week winter break will be a glorious rest from it all. I need to strike a balance.

"...i only wanted to lie with my hands turned up and be utterly empty. how free it is, you have no idea how free."-Sylvia Plath, "The belly jar"

I ask you not to watch the video while listening to this song, but close you eyes and let it just seep into your blood. Oh please please do.

i'll never be tired of england

This is going to be my new soundtrack. So happy I finally found it, thank you!

la poésie est dans la rue

On a completely different tangent from what I've been writing lately, here's a quick update of what I've been doing. My life is getting ever more hectic this year, in a good way. Apart from the school crap, which I don't even find so tiring and demanding as everybody is complaining, these have been some really good days. I went to a lot of cultural events, and I'm really proud of myself because I never make the time for this anymore. I've been coping with school quite well, and I even started writing poetry again, after re-discovering two of my favorite poets (Traian T. Cosovei & Charles Bukowski).
So here's some poetry I've been enjoying, as of late. Of course it's Bukowski. Again.

there's a bluebird in my heart that

wants to get out

but I'm too tough for him,

I say, stay in there, I'm not going

to let anybody see

you.

there's a bluebird in my heart that

wants to get out

but I pur whiskey on him and inhale

cigarette smoke

and the whores and the bartenders

and the grocery clerks

never know that

he's

in there.

there's a bluebird in my heart that

wants to get out

but I'm too tough for him,

I say,

stay down, do you want to mess

me up?

you want to screw up the

works?

you want to blow my book sales in

Europe?

there's a bluebird in my heart that

wants to get out

but I'm too clever, I only let him out

at night sometimes

when everybody's asleep.

I say, I know that you're there,

so don't be

sad.

then I put him back,

but he's singing a little

in there, I haven't quite let him

die

and we sleep together like

that

with our

secret pact

and it's nice enough to

make a man

weep, but I don't

weep, do

you?

-"Bluebird", C.Bukowski

I started a personal collection of poetry. Who writes poetry in the morning? Preachers and wanderers? And thieves?

and me?

t a m e

I have no idea what I'm supposed to do. I just don't know what I'm supposed to be. I can't find a style of my own, whatever I write, compose, create, I hate. Everything I do seems so mediocre. It's not false modesty or anything. I strongly believe I suck at this. There are so many people who inspire me, that's why I started this blog in the first place, to collect inspiring works of people I admire. It seems I just can't really put this inspiration into something productive. Whatever I try, there goes nothing. They say every artist has his pauses and his moments of stagnation. Too bad I'm not at all an artist, to use that as a plausible excuse. I need musings and muses. I need something or someone to keep me "on the edge of my seat" again.
Oh, and this blog? This blog is a lousy excuse for a..whatever it's supposed to be. Seriously, don't you think?

Warhol & Hitchcock

two of my favorite people of all times

la douleur exquise

I'm sorry to cut in like this with another quote, it's just that other people's words simply fit in so well..They just say it better than I could. And I feel it this way, and it's real. So, when my words fail..
"Pain is strange. A cat killing a bird, a car accident, a fire…. Pain arrives, BANG, and there it is, it sits on you. It’s real. And to anybody watching, you look foolish. Like you’ve suddenly become an idiot. There’s no cure for it unless you know somebody who understands how you feel, and knows how to help."-Charles Bukowski
Mind you, I'm not trying to adopt their view of the world, although I assimilate it, it's fucking inspiration. It's a bit unoriginal, but I try to be real.
But actually the point of me writing this was to thank somebody. Let's face it, I'm brainsick, I'm often cast aside because of my self-destructive way of complicating everything..thank you for understanding, thank you for being there at all times. Too often I underestimate you, and right now, I'm so happy, there's no more room for my forsaken ghosts.

"Don't you just love New Years? You get to start all over. Everybody gets a second chance."

-Forrest Gump

as desperation takes hold

I'm sick of being so tired, so empty, so desperate..it's actually become frustrating, I excessively insist on this and victimize myself, and it's making me sick. Why do I need to keep complaining about it? A teenager who has issues, how refreshing! I'll try to keep it down, I promise. New year's resolution: I have to get my shit together. If only it was that simple.



Do you cry out in your sleep? All my failings exposed..
Gets a taste in my mouth, as desperation takes hold.
Why is it something so good just can't function no more?
And love, love will tear us apart again..