THOSE WHO SUFFER LOVE
Sadness.
Alternative Press joy has somewhat faded. (See previous entry- you especially Chelsea).
It's funny how, when you are an angsty stereotypical teenage girl- as I so undoubtedly am- the smallest and stupidest things make such a big difference.
Take this week-month-thing (shut up), for example. Every night I have stayed up to ungodly hours of the night just sitting there and looking at the moon. I don't know why- but I have been, and it's gotten to be weirdly customary.
And tonight it's cloudy. So I obviously can't do that.
And it feels really aweful.
It feels like I got the chance to see someone I haven't seen in months taken away from me.
And that's so completely stupid. Because, in case I hadn't noticed, the goddamn moon is out every fucking night. But just because I can't see it, I feel like shit.
I-love-ev-er-y-thing.
And on a completely different note-
I keep getting comments made to me about the way in which I write. And the content I write about.
Not just on Diaryland, either. Which is weird considering that I hardly write at all over the summer.
I don't get it. Why people enjoy this crap.
I don't think I ever will.
But I guess that's just the way it goes, you know.
How when two people have the exact same thought, or the exact same feeling, one can take it, and make it pretty.
And the other can just pour it out. And even though it's the same thing, it comes out like some big bloody crime scene mess, just because they don't have that skill.
That would be me, by the way. Damn the ability to only write in painfully frank prose.
It's like songwriting.
That's a subject I've been toying with lately....
I, of course, am completely hopeless at it, because (to quote my father) I "have no poetry in my soul".
But it's still really, really fascinating.
And it comes down to the same thing.
How someone could take something menial and pointless and make it work- make it pleasing and attractive. And how someone else could take something really deep and heartfelt, and have it still come out shit.
I don't know.
I'm just babbling at this point....
I could go on for hours. But I won't.
~~Pink
P.S. Every peice of writing I've done out of diaryland over the past week has mentioned blood or cannibalism or murder at least four times. I counted.
This worries me.