My Whole Expanse I Cannot See…

If I knew there would be no tomorrow, if zombies finally paid us a visit, I’d tell you I love you. Why are such simple words more frightening than the walking dead?

These are the lyrics to a B-Side version of Nirvana’s I Hate Myself and Want to Die. As a whole, I don’t think that it makes sense, I don’t think it’s all supposed to make sense. I love the song because certain lines are very powerful, and, at least to me, meaningful. Kurt was absolutely fucking brilliant at abstract word art.

Do any lines strike you as important? My next tattoo might be one of these lines.

Look on the bright side, suicide… – Nirvana

Talk about resilience!

Like I said, there’s absolutely no questioning that Queen of the Damned is awful, I totally admit that, but certain scenes…

I’m completely addicted to the concert scene, I can’t help it. I love the goth imagery, the atmosphere. I love Lestat, his arrogance, his confidence. He knows what he is, he lives unflinchingly on his terms. I sometimes see myself like Lestat, but not often enough.

You’re all sex, and liquor, romance and sin. You’re all dark clothes, and dark music, dark words. America, baseball, apple pie, these things you’re not. You fit nowhere, tired of trying, searching, tired of wanting. You’re all lonely and bored, things you hate, and never lack.

Queen of the Damned is definitely a terrible movie, definitely a terrible adaption of a decent book. It’s so wrong in so many ways, and yet, I watch it. I watch it because it does do a few things right, such as the film’s final sequence…

I think it’s such a gorgeous visual metaphor for immortality, it perfectly illustrates how time only flies for we who die.

Not breathing makes me think of Diving Bell, makes me think of dying, makes me think of not writing, makes me think of fear, makes me think of loneliness, makes me think of Sara.

I’m not sleeping much these days, a few hours here and there. Palahniuk’s right about insomnia, everything starts to feel far away. I feel like I’m a copy of a copy of a copy, world without end, Amen. I’ve quit sleeping before, this isn’t anything new, or unexpected. Ill-contented worriers don’t nod off well, we’re missing something important. 

I vividly remember the last time I fell asleep content and happy, and it was so long ago, so far from here.

Soon, you’ll be asleep. Drugs will travel through a tube and into a vein in your neck, and you’ll go down. It’ll feel like forty year-old scotch, like the best sex you ever had, and you’ll go under, totally lost and happy to be so.

Yet, before the drugs take you, before life fades to black, you wonder about things. You wonder if you’ll wake up again, you wonder where you’ll go if you don’t wake up. You wonder if you’re a good person, if you deserve a return trip to consciousness. Mostly, though, you think about her. You think about her gorgeous brown eyes, the little strand of curly brown hair that dangles behind her ear. You think about her voice, how the sound of it makes you happy. You never hear her enough, you never tire of talking with her. She’s ridiculously smart, endlessly interesting. You think about holding her close, her warmth against your chest. You think about holding her, kissing her, soft and slow-like. You wonder what she thinks about you, if you’ll see her again.

The drugs are hitting you now, and soon you’ll be asleep.

“I don’t want to be your friend

I just want to be your lover

No matter how it ends

No matter how it starts

Forget about your house of cards

And I’ll do mine

Forget about your house of cards

And I’ll do mine” –Radiohead

I’m certain that any fellow from Radiohead can walk up to any woman, casually say the above, and be in bed within four minutes. I just wonder if the song has any real-world applications. I wonder if I could try it without getting clocked. I think, maybe, it’s all in the delivery. Maybe.