Blue words today
Excessively blue, in fact. If you can't handle that color, then walk away, I say. However..
BLUE forever will exist in the color wheel. You can ignore it but it will not leave the wheel. It's an undeniable fact of life. The wheel keeps turning with our without you. Actually, it keeps turning with you, because the latter is impossible. You're stuck with all the colors. Even orange. Even barf green. Lucky you. Lucky me.
Current mood: Left Alone
The opening to this music video is silent. But it's good. The video is by Drake Jurado. That girl is not me. She is an actress portraying me in a prettier way. People want to see pretty. It is the law of life, however badly we want to convince ourselves otherwise. Anyway. I am in love with this little short film.
Drake was my best friend. He has since moved on to a fancier life. It's fine. His brother is rather famous, his name is Damien. You may have heard of him if you like good, under-the-radar storytellers singing songs in minor keys a lot.
I'm not sure why anyone would ever like minor keys. They are dark and depressing. It's not something I am interested in, that's for darn sure. I'd much rather hear a happy song any day.
(Insert hysterical laughter here)
Anyway.. Drake moved on. We chat sometimes, briefly, but it's not the same anymore. Time got away.
People move on.
(deleted a bunch of long and angsty paragraphs here. You're welcome)
Been a week since we spoke. I've been floating around in a dream, it seems. Lost in my thoughts, consumed by my own nearing death. Maybe it won't arrive for decades, maybe it's tomorrow. I have no plot picked out for my final resting place. That's an uneasy feeling. Yes?
Do you know where you will be buried?
Or where your ashes will sit when you are burned to a crisp in some crematorium? A basement somewhere in a building that houses dead people until they are consumed, either by fire or the Earth itself. Life is a series of verses in one spectacularly morbid poem. Isn't it?
I once heard of a man who told his family that he did not want to be cremated when he died and they did it anyway. Well, listen to this... while his body was burning, the fire spread out into the room somehow and the whole building burned down. I mean, wow. That really is a true story unless my co-worker made it up. She tells a lot of dark stories, but I'm pretty sure they're mostly all true.
If I died right now, my family would have to pick a spot for me. Everyone knows I do not want to be burned. (I, too, would burn that building down.) My parents are both being cremated. Burned to ashes. This came as a surprise to me, sprung upon me recently, casually on a Saturday.
No longer do they wish to be buried in the cemetery with the rest of our family. No. I still am not healed from those thoughts. My dad wants to be thrown in a cave. Figures. Ashes in a cave. Poetry. If my parents ever read this, please know that I hold no hard feelings. It is just not easy to swallow.
I make that word as a big as fontally possible because it screams out to me as a word that emotionally destroys me. It makes me melt into a puddle of sorrow on the proverbial floor of my failed existence thus far in life. I have failed in every way. I might as well be a pile of ashes in an old barn somewhere.
A tear just fell into my coffee. I can't drink it now. It's too depressing. Tear coffee. No thanks. They fell out of me for a reason, I will not bring them back into my body again.
It's difficult to cry with glasses on.
I will go take them off and have a better cup of coffee.
Goodbye, hello, sweet dreams, let's go.
And my stalker challenge failed, by the way. I was pretty sure it would. I aways hang on to hope, but like I said, I am also a realist. No one gives a damn about bringing new musicians into this community. Even I would rather just go watch them on YouTube. I will go do that now.