phantoms

shadows

reflections

PIECES OF FORGOTTEN PEOPLE

condensation

haze

fog

It's getting better. It's becoming what I wanted. I will be real one day.

It'll be what I dreamed but I'm a bitch like that. I'm a dick like that.

hehe knobjockey, awww jean you make me laugh.

*ahem* anyway

Cause whenever the ways become clear, because whenever they say they love me.... I dont want them anyway.

Why is that?

TANGENT

Tracy emin, ya know the piece she did where she lived in that little space in a gallery for days with nothing but some paint and brushes and tried to rediscover her style, what was it called, cant remember, anyway. Wasnt it great? Well i think it was. And i think blogging did that to my writing. I think blogging brought me somewhere really dark that I hadnt been in awhile, or that I didnt allow myself to go. And im glad I went there again. Im glad I remembered who I am. So thank you for that. Because I think i was tryin to become someone else, I think I was a jigsaw of other people. And now I found me. My writing voice anyway.

So what I'm wondering is if you can ever be happy.

and if so what do you do when you get there?

Because once happy becomes normal surely there's got to be something higher than that, another level of happy? No?

Or maybe there isn't.

So maybe we should stop striving for happiness cause fuck, what if we get there and there's no higher level?

x