Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about happiness and why it seems to so often elude me.
“Are we happy?” is a question I find I am constantly asking myself.
Sometimes the answer is a flat “no”. More often than not, it’s a mental shrug followed by an, “I don’t know” or a, “mehmmph”. But it’s never a, “yes”…
I saw it coming about a thousand miles away, and yet, I still willingly walked headfirst into this maelstrom…Why?
Why do you keep repeating the same cycles when you know exactly how they will end?
Because you still romanticize bullshit. That’s why. But being aware of this fact, on its own, is not enough to make you change course…
Have you ever entertained the fantasy of death, of dying? I’m not saying everyone does this, but come on, I’m sure as hell not the only one who indulges in such melodramatic and unnecessary mental folly…
Last week, I ended with several questions that I had no answers for—sort of shaking my fist angrily at my conception of Western Cultures of Grief and how they’ve fucked me up. Over the following week (lifetime), I looked for answers to those questions, internally and externally. Of course, I found no hard answers, but I think I might have found a few insights…
There is something maddeningly seductive in depriving yourself of a desire you know you possess every power to fulfill. To be depraved is thrilling. Craving is more potent, more satisfying than satisfaction…
The idea is to write something every day, quickly, without fretting too much over words or taking any time to edit; just let the words flow in a stream of consciousness! I’ll see if they give me a story, a lyric, a poem. It doesn’t matter. If it blossoms into something fuller later that’s fine, but it’s ok if they remain fragments. Life is made up of fragments. Some of them become stories and some of them are just pieces of a larger story. Some fragments are singular moments in time. Forgettable or life changing they all have their place. -Lorelei Moon