I know myself and that is all.
I know myself and that is all.
And even if somebody else has it much worse, that doesn’t really change the fact that you have what you have.
But don’t forget who you really are. And I’m not talking about your so-called real name. All names are made up by someone else, even the one your parents gave you. You know who you really are. When you’re alone at night, looking up at the stars, or maybe lying in your bed in total darkness, you know that nameless person inside you.
My very existence is a cliché.
To an extent i don’t feel that i have a choice, because i don’t feel that i have the imagination to make things up or to tell stories, so i just end up writing about myself. I think the best thing about it is that when you put these thoughts and feelings and emotions into songs, they stop being yours and when people hear the record they’ll apply their own meanings to the songs, and they’ll listen to the music while they form their own relationships and share experiences with other people. It stops being my life and starts being part of other people’s lives.
This is your daily reminder that self-indulgence can be a form of self-care.
That ‘because it makes me feel better’ is a completely valid reason to do something.
That if something makes you happy then it is not pointless or a waste of time.
That if doing something makes you feel better then it is not something that is unproductive to do.
And that doing things that make you feel okay is just as important as anything else.
Today I am my ugly self
but it does not matter
because no one can see me except myself and my housemates
and although these days I have started to admit that “I like girls too”
I do not want to fuck any of them.
The other night, I got dressed and put on makeup
only for my two sets of plans to be canceled.
“What a waste”,
What a shame no one gets to see me looking so pretty
except my housemates
I have learnt well
that I am only worth how I am viewed
and should not waste my pretty days on people who do not care how I appear to them.
I do not know which one is the real me,
only which me I prefer
and I do not waste her on myself.
But I do not understand why.
“I have lots of things to teach you now, in case we ever meet, concerning the message that was transmitted to me under a pine tree in North Carolina on a cold winter moonlit night. It said that Nothing Ever Happened, so don’t worry. It’s all like a dream. Everything is ecstasy, inside. We just don’t know it because of our thinking-minds. But in our true blissful essence of mind is known that everything is alright forever and forever and forever. Close your eyes, let your hands and nerve-ends drop, stop breathing for 3 seconds, listen to the silence inside the illusion of the world, and you will remember the lesson you forgot, which was taught in immense milky way soft cloud innumerable worlds long ago and not even at all. It is all one vast awakened thing. I call it the golden eternity. It is perfect. We were never really born, we will never really die. It has nothing to do with the imaginary idea of a personal self, other selves, many selves everywhere: Self is only an idea, a mortal idea. That which passes into everything is one thing. It’s a dream already ended. There’s nothing to be afraid of and nothing to be glad about. I know this from staring at mountains months on end. They never show any expression, they are like empty space. Do you think the emptiness of space will ever crumble away? Mountains will crumble, but the emptiness of space, which is the one universal essence of mind, the vast awakenerhood, empty and awake, will never crumble away because it was never born.”
Painting is self-discovery. Every good artist paints what he is.