Im sitting here, the music heavy, kinda like molasses bricks that are pouring out of my fingers all over this screen. Im not sure where this will go. This blog I mean. Im writing to no one, about no one, because none of you are really worth my mind. I really think that.
A blog? Thats not Jacob Cooper. He writes his life into little black books and never shows them to the world so that some day he will die and no one will remember who he was until they find the notebooks. and he will be a genius. Emily Dickinson that shit. Because even though my biggest fear in the world is ending up alone forever and never having a companion, I crave to be a lost piece of history found someday and thought to be supreme and deep and such an important part of culture. But I wont. None of us will.
There is a duality in self. You are the biggest thing in this world you know. your life is filled with mostly well, you. but really you are so tiny. so fucking not worth anything that when you die the world won't even feel you leave. But it will because you are the whole and the whole is you. that is what people don't understand. That you are. Does that make sense? if it does you should probably not be on this plane of existence. Just be happy you get to be alive. get to taste and smell and feel. emotions are disgusting but fuck it i love feeling. even sad. its amazing to be able to feel something like that. To feel anything.
I don't wan to be misunderstood. except I do because that makes for interesting conversation.
But I don't want to get burned.
so don't your potholderz
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