#epchars

You matter as much as the things that matter to you. And I got so backwards trying to matter to him. All this time, there were real things to care about: real, good people who care about me, and this place. It's so easy to get stuck. You just get caught in being something, being special or cool or whatever, to the point where you don't even know why you need it; you just think you do. And I never believed him, but my father always said: „Whatever happens to you, be honest, tell the truth, even if they do look at you funny. They will. But what you gotta understand, Son, is that almost all of those people are full of shit. They’re all part of this great big conspiracy of bullshit. And they’re scared of people like you.”  (x)(x)

We're young. We're supposed to drink too much. We're supposed to have bad attitudes and shag each other's brains out. We are designed to party. This is it. Yeah, so a few of us will overdose or go mental. But Charles Darwin said you can't make an omelette without breaking a few eggs. And that's what it's all about breaking eggs! And by eggs, I do mean, getting twatted on a cocktail of Class As. If you could just see yourselves! It breaks my heart. You're wearing cardigans! We had it all. We fucked up bigger and better than any generation that came before us. We were so beautiful! We're screw-ups. I'm a screw-up and I plan to be a screw-up until my late 20s, maybe even my early 30s. And I will shag my own mother before I let her... or anyone else take that away from me!  (x)

Some days I think about my life as a movie reel. A good war story where my hands are shields & my body an arrow strung through for pulling. Maybe dark comedy where everyone knows terrible things about me & all of them are true. Or an old-school horror, all glittering midnight streets where the ghosts of what we were still demand redress. I think mostly I am crime noir. A mind prone to suspicion & a gun turned in on the self. Hands veined under filmy water, always scrubbing for shame. A mouth drawing near to the kid with sad, dark eyes. Close enough to kiss, but never close enough to promise the future can ever be changed.  (x)

We are all ruins, we are all boiling alive, we are all robots. Ask the Titanic, an unsinkable ghost sleeping grudgingly under the sea. Ask Hitler, a vision is so often a nightmare; some acrylics run just like blood. Ask the nations, entrapped in war, dancing, pleading, battling in the blue arms of death. My brother says the world’s going to hell, I say we’re already there. Mothers send their daughters out for groceries with their eyes half-closed and prickling fear gathering like flies in the back of their throats. Kids don’t come back from school. Cattle is mutiliated. We are mutilated. We sleep with the same monsters who broke us. They say THE END IS NEAR they say WE’RE AT THE BRINK OF ANOTHER WORLD WAR, they say THE GODS HAVE ABANDONED US, we weep and we pray and we write about it and we do nothing. Instead you turn your back to the history lessons, to the way your father shakes his head in dismay at the television, to all your friends who swear we keep repeating our ancestors’ mistakes. This is a world that breeds cowards and drunks, rapists and serial killers. (x)

She’s got the looks of a lion, the heart of a wolf, eyes like a cats, crooked smile like a snakes. How can you trust someone so wild? Paradoxically speaking, how could you not? She runs deeper than the ocean, a mind as wide as outer space, she’ll spurt out words of fire like an erupted volcano, but try to soothe it over like the soft oceanic waves of passion. Flowers bloom from her ribcage and needles protrude from her back, a great oak tree with roots as deep as time, but yet as free as a bird during flight. Can you trust the girl who’s as wild as any animal, and as mysterious as the unknown? Even if you didn’t, you would still be consumed by the thought of her. Dancing in a wild flower field, forever entrapped by Nature. (x)