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ZoeyBaby Lyrics 2
Oh, oh, you're magical, baby
I'm blown like dynamite
I've had it, pickin' on daisies
So clear, it's you and I
Can we make it alright, make it alright, make it alright
I wanna take it all night, take it all night, take it all night
(Zoey to Baby)
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We need more women singing about being a huge goddamn loser in music 😂
And not in the way Taylor Swift does, like being poignant and elegant and turning your pain into strength bs, no, we really need normal women singing about "still looking for your car, just kill me." I think that's what we need. More girl losers. 😂😂
Mad respect to Gatlin for being open and honest in a way that isn't "girlbossing through pain", no, it's just pain and enduring it in the worst possible way- just letting it wash over you and screaming about wanting someone to kill them.
We’re gonna stay high ✨
-Shawn Mendes
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post-processing
what I’ve realized in the last months is that I still need to process the passing of my all time favourite singer, Chester Bennington. Well, if tumblr isn’t the perfect anonymous platform for that, then I don’t know what is. I know I’m late on this. Although is there a “late” on processing stuff? Who the fuck cares anyway. I’m doing this for myself. And if you stumble across and decide to follow, it’ll give me the feeling to be heard, which is probably not bad. One thing I’ve wanted to do since July ‘17 is draw him. When I found out what happened, I wanted to find my old drawing of him that I did when I was 13. It was the first good portrait of somebody that I had ever done at that time. That was like 12 years ago. And I just can’t fucking find it. It really messed me up because losing this drawing felt like the symbolism for losing that friend that was in my head. I’ve never met him. I’ve never seen him live. And now I never will. But fuck symbolism. If I draw him again, it won’t create a new Chester. If I find my old drawing it won’t bring him back to his family. Fuck. But, I still need to do this. I haven’t had the courage to draw him yet. Not even a sketch. I can barely watch live recordings. Though I’m used to the thought that he’s gone, realizing it is still painful. It’s not only the loss of a friend I’ve never met. It’s the realization that what you loved in your youth can die. A part of my youth died. I can die too. But fuck me anyway. Until I’m dead I’m going to watch what I loved die. I’m getting too pessimistic, I’m not that dark. Chester’s legacy, his music and soul, what he moved in the world, will never die. I don’t even know how to start. Probably wild small sketches in my sketchbook. I can’t start big and fuck it up. Will I listen to Linkin Park and Grey Daze when drawing? I don’t know. Will I cry on the drawing? I don’t know. Will I want tears to fall on the drawing if I cry? That’s so emo. But who the fuck cares, I’m overthinking. I will draw him. One day I’ll have that one portrait again.
Inktober Day #11: Favourite Singer: Casey Lalonde
