I've been writing a lot of poetry lately, and I really enjoy twitter, and I wanted to stalk eemueller. So I thought this would be the best way to go.
Oh hey.
New number.
(253) 237-4326
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Also…
Feel free to ask me random shit.
I’m bored y’all. And I love y’all.
Life is Short.
So imagine me delivering this in a semi-serious fashion… who am I kidding, you know my speech patterns and cadence better than anyone.
I want to know honestly what you think of it. Any criticism is welcome, and feel no need to praise anything if you find nothing worthy. Or even if you do :P
Regardless, I hope you enjoy it. I love you.
Iean
Recently I was diagnosed with an auto-immune disease.
It affects me both physically and mentally.
There is no cure, only treatments and precautions.
There isn’t even a cause.
It just… happened.
One day I was well, the next I was not. No choice.
Nothing even to feel guilty about.
Happenstance simply happened, any control be damned.
It does have some really interesting character to it though, my new uninvited passenger.
The ripples in the pond are far from concentric.
For example, it can spontaneously quiet down, bringing silence…
And the roar of my earth returns quite deafening.
There are steps that I can take to curate the cacophony. Precautions, if you will.
Diet, exercise, medication… and nicotine.
Now I don’t know how you all feel about irony, but that shit’s funny right there.
The silent killer, the scorn of health-conscious Western Civilization…
CIGARETTES…
Are an overall positive thing for my well-being.
Do any of you all smoke? Yeah?
Would you say you’re addicted?
Do you remember the first time you took that smoke in? Took those feelings in?
That feeling for me was power.
Nothing of the megalomanical sort… I felt empowered because I made a choice.
In my little stratosphere of high school shackles, I was making the choice to pour sweet-savory carcinogens down my throat. No peer pressure, no desire to fit in… I just wanted to make a choice.
So I did-
And the power felt great.
Then of course, there came the guilt. That incessant gnawing of the moral compass, reminding me that when I pull in that drag of endorphins and tar I’m also pulling roughly seven seconds off of my lease on this earth.
Barring any… early evictions.
But now that guilt is gone. The power remains, and so does the addiction. But now the guilt has been… replaced. Overwritten. The original remains, but it has been superceded.
So has the addiction.
Sure, the chemical reactions still resonate in plumes of craving. But you want to know what I’m addicted to now?
Control.
I am addicted to control. I crave it at every moment. When things get tense, when I feel stress, after a hard day… nothing calms my nerves like a nice, long drag of control.
That cure-all for the chaos… that is what I pay $9.50 plus tax for twenty sticks of.
I don’t know what I’ll be doing in ten years. I don’t even know where I’ll be in six months.
My day is dictated by which Doctor I most pressingly need to meet with.
I take pills and meet with a man I don’t know twice a week just to wrestle with controlling my own thoughts.
I don’t control my own breathing, my own heartbeat…
I can’t even control whether parts of my own body attack one another.
I don’t know how this thing affects my life span, what I’ve become more vulnerable to… when my lease will up.
But when I can start a combustion, control it with my own lungs, create raw entropy with my thanatos…
I can take those seven seconds, throw them down the tar-soaked drain… I made the choice.
I have the control.
I’m the powerful one.
For everything that I’ve lost control of, those seven seconds were mine to waste.
Maybe I can take peace in that.
Hyrulean Travel Posters
by Dean Walton
A new limited edition set of retro prints inspired by my all-time favourite places in Hyrule! Now available in a range of sizes in poster or canvas form at GamerPrint.
What the hell bro?
It’s been four hours since I first laid down to attempt to sleep.
I haven’t had more than 5-6 hours of sleep per night for about 4 days now. And that’s being generous.
I did two hours of hot yoga today, for the first time ever. I could barely move afterwards.
In fact, I’m so exhausted I can still barely move.
Yet I’m still awake.
Brain…
What the hell bro?
Perfect Disguise
You cocked your head to shoot me down—
Well I don’t give a damn about you or this town
No more
Now that I know the score.
~Modest Mouse
You could ask me things.
If you’d like. Still new to this whole thing!
“ When somebody says, “I don’t think women should be raped for wearing short skirts, but what do they expect when they do go out like that?” what you are actually saying is that if a woman in a short skirt is raped, you will be less likely to hold her rapist culpable. Which makes a woman in a short skirt really appealing to a rapist. That’s something that you did. That’s not something the woman in the short skirt did, or something the rapist did. You made that woman a more comfortable target by making it clear that if she got raped, you would be less upset about it, less willing to see the rapist go to jail, less willing to support the woman. A woman is not increasing her risk of being raped by wearing a short skirt. You are increasing her risk of being raped by saying that women who get raped in short skirts should have expected that. Rapists hear you say that. By only raping the women that bystanders agree should be raped, a rapist reduces his chance of being caught and, if caught, punished. And that is why he will pick those women, over and over again, not because there is something more appealingly rapeable about them — they have what any woman has, as far as rape goes — but because he will be less likely to be held culpable for his actions.
— (via mollay)
