Hit me like the bus hit Regina George

It dawns upon me , not often enough, how beautiful everything is .

It keeps itself hid. 

Today was the rare geode of those days. Utter chaos in the world outside my world, and inside , love.
My tumblr time-line is bombarded every hour with hip typography declaring how the little things are the ones that matter the most and how  happiness comes from within,,,, ; most all repetitive philosophies that go over my head, except for how PRETTY THEY WRITE THEM!. ahhhh
But today it hit me.

My routine scenario , for one,is to go about dragging my mood : happyness, sadness, self consuming helplessness over the pointlessness of the world, excitement (occasionally) and overall existential crisis painted on my face.
I speak for none, when i say that; for some are better at distracting themselves with the immediate.

Unfortunately, reader, this blogger has one party rule in her/his mind (yeah. subtle ambiguity. see what i did there ? nah? whoakay*+*).
Let's paint that thought: if im blue, im blu…

After : Death to Writer's Bloc

I've got stories; the ones that make me go oh shit I have to tell.  But I have only known how to keep them closed in the caverns of my mind. It's a terrific feeling; veins throbbing to '' What is living, if not to tell a story''. However, the stories I deliver on the doorstep of a 'world indifferent to a writer's self hate', are not worthy of the idea they were born out of?! (if that makes any sense.) For me Birthing ideas has lately meant -destroying them; however precious an idea seems in my head, it comes out a piece of shit as I write it down.  So , this blog is an ode to carefree me. I don't care how bad I create. I will create.  I have a desk to sit on and a keyboard to type with and an Internet connection and I WILL create.