Crossing Cocytus

painting an apple is a lot like eating an apple; anyone can do it and they can do it as tidily or as messily as they want or are capable of.

i hate the concept of “teaching art” - art is about you, your expressions, your emotions, your thoughts and beliefs. if you spend five seconds on a painting and it’s a complete bloody mess; that’s just as artistically valid as a picasso.

if you “fail” at eating an apple according to someone else’s standard, would you care?

art’s the same. who gives a shit if someone else doesn’t get it or doesn’t understand why you do what you do the way you do it.

poetry, sketching, painting, singing, sculpting, acting, writing, composing, living.

it doesn’t matter “how” you do it or what other people think about it. as long as it comes from you, that’s all that matters.

i’d rather throw an opened can of red paint and shattered glass at a canvas i found on the side of the road and have people hate it than copy some 300 year old “masterpiece” out of a book and be praised worldwide.

painting an apple is a lot like eating an apple:
you can do either one, just do it the way you want to do it, either way it really doesn’t matter; really, painting an apple is about as fucking boring as eating one.

people who make me unhappy are shit and stuff.

i’m hungover.
my mate, other-chris, is passed out still.
i’m smoking my last remaining cigarette.
once i’m alone again i’m eating soup and watching jerry springer; like a boss.

love and junk. 

Anonymous: I want to draw something for you, is there anything you'd like if I may?

in general or have you been reading my story and want to contribute some art?

(if you’ve been reading then feel free to draw one of the characters that’d be awesome, always looking for more illustrators)

if not then… i dunno haha.
draw me?
(as seriously or ridiculously as you want)

love and junk. 

Tonight is a bad night.
I’m feeling fucking hopeless.
I feel like there’s no point.
No point to writing the story anymore, or any more songs or any more poems.
No point in painting anything again.
No point in studying.
No point in hoping.

I just want to lock myself in my room, listen to my music and have cigarettes delivered to my door for the rest of forever.
I don’t want to think about people, I don’t want to think about money, I don’t want to think about creativity, I don’t want to think about religion, I don’t want to think about psychology, I don’t want to think about life and whatever life is meant to mean.

I don’t want to think.

I look back, I remember things,
(another thing I don’t want to do anymore)
and I see where I made my mistakes.

And sometimes, usually if I’ve had to much to drink, I laugh about it.
I laugh about how stupid the whole fucking thing was.

Because I’m me.
I’m methodical, manipulative, persuasive, I take everything into account and I plan for every possible outcome, I keep everything and everyone playing my game and I make sure they don’t know they’re playing it.

But somehow, for some reason, I fucked up.
My plans failed and my game ended and now here we are.

I welcomed people in that I should’ve kept out.
I kept people at arm’s length when I should’ve held them close.
I trusted people when I knew they’d betray me.
I said the wrong things at the wrong time.
I only listened to the things that made me miserable or hateful.
And when I heard the only thing I ever wanted to hear; I was too much of a coward to say anything back; because I wanted to be free, because I wanted to do whatever the fuck it was I wanted to do.

And because of that; I lost.

I was an idiot and I fucked up.
And the worst part is I can’t do anything about it.
I can’t fix it; I can’t go back and play it differently.
And I’m scared because it hasn’t changed; because I think I’ll regret my actions for the rest of my life; because I had exactly what I wanted and then I ruined it all.

Things aren’t going to change.
This is it.
This is all it will ever be.
And I’m fucking sick of thinking about it.
Thinking about what I should have done, thinking about all the moments I took for granted and all the shitty decisions I made.
I don’t know what to do.
I don’t even know if there’s anything I can do.
I can’t.
I know that.

I just wish I could forget it all.
I wish it could all just fuck off.

I don’t want to think anymore. 

distorted-lives: Hey, just thought I'd leave you a message. I've been reading through your blog and stuff and I am so amazed - I guess is the right word, at how strong you are. I'm currently suffering/in recovery from depression, anorexia, and PTSD. I recently made my own recovery blog staystronglittleone(.)tumblr(.)com :) I thought I would let you and any followers etc know that if anyone needs someone to vent to or some support, my ask box is always open too and anon is turned on if needed. Much love x

Cheers love, we all need to support each other as much as possible.
its important to build a network so that there is always someone to turn to when needed - i admire that you want to help.

 

Anonymous: I feel like a stalker, I have you on facebook and I read most of what you post and seen that you've been writing an online book, which I am yet to read but there was a link on the page to this and for some reason I clicked on it. I have spoken to you a few times even been close to meeting up with you but I have been scared and well I feel like out of my social circle I would be the only one to get on with you, because I feel this really wierd connection a part of myself that I don't talk about.

i usually get along with everybody… unless your social circle includes george clooney.

…i just do not like that guy.

(and i have no idea why you’d be scarred to meet up with me but i’m… flattered? haha.)

well, if you ever wanna let me know who you are, feel free; i’m still newish to adelaide and love meeting new people and stuff.
if you think we could be friends i’d be awesomely happy to meet you.
drinks on me for sure. haha.

love and junk. 

Listening to Metallica, Crystal Castles, Garbage and Mindless Self Indulgence.
Starting on my second lemon, lime and bitters with a double shot of vodka.
Alcohol and music loud enough to piss off your housemates.
The perfect way to start a day.
Mum’ll be here soon. she’s here still in adelaide.
In fact, she just pulled into the driveway, better go.
Love and junk guys and girls. 

I do not feel suicidal.
But the slip has reminded me that I’m not 100% cured.
And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t still want to cut.
That said; I ain’t giving in that easily.

The episode that landed me in hospital has, regrettably, made writing a bit more difficult.
And unfortunately I’ve let rage get the better of me the past few days.
I’m hoping I haven’t offended anyone in that time.
I’ve just been feeling trapped, weak, hateful and vengeful.
But on the upside the worst I’ve done is toss out a threat.

I’ve been thinking a lot about revenge lately.
I’ve been thinking about what it means and when it’s worth acting upon vindictive urges.

I’ve realised now that my threats against this person who’s filled me up with so much fury and sorrow, ultimately, are redundant.

Because, the truth is, as much as I would like to get back at them.
(And I won’t lie; the idea of ruining them makes me feel near ecstatic.)
The truth is hurting them would result in hurting someone I still care about, despite my best efforts to forget them.

For the first time in my life I’ve realised, honestly, that I can’t and won’t act on selfishness.
I won’t let wrath and anger get the better of me.

Hurting them isn’t worth hurting the other.

So I give up on my threats.
Because the fact of it all is; as much as I am capable and as much as I want to make them pay - they have the power.
Because I cannot hurt them without hurting someone I care too deeply about in the process.

-
-
- 

You win.
I give up.