My first mixtape
combined with discussions
about art and
life, in general.

I love how I actually feel better after writing.
My actions are not completely futile.

I am living in limbo.
Nothing inspires me anymore.
I am doing nothing productive.
I feel like my life is being wasted.
Only.
I don't have the energy to change.

I don't have the energy to do anything.

It's during times like these that I wish
I could just sleep through winter, bury
myself deep down in my blankets and hibernate
like a bear or squirrel or something.

Christmas turns everyone into a different person.

In a bad way.

I can't wait 'til Summer.

The cold numbed her senses and muted her surroundings until everything became a sharp gray. Limbs became invisible; she was a floating torso in a sea of gray tones. Her body slowed down, making her almost appear drunk. Mouth refused to form syllables, fingers refused to curl, legs refused to walk. It was a battle of mind over body ( Read more... )

You asked me today if I was mad at you. I told you no ( Read more... )

The panic was a tidal wave, it took her over and pulled her heartstrings; it was a harsh wind, it burned her eyes and made them soak her cheeks. She became a single, throbbing emotion that could barely breath through sobs. Despair built up around her walls, breaking the barriers that had provided her with years of protection, attacking the single ( Read more... )

It was like all of a sudden I could categorize him as a single stereotype. I could see him on TV in a cheesy high-school sitcom from the 80s; the smart, sarcastic guy who smokes American cigarettes and wears wire-rimmed glasses to coffee houses in the heart of the city, to listen to the local beat poets and experimental jazz artists. His wardrobe ( Read more... )

www.forbetterlife.org

Kind of sweet, I think.