my god these dni posts are fucking crazy these days

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my god these dni posts are fucking crazy these days

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I write because of boredom
and to relieve tension in my shoulders
I wonder why
more often than I should
for my own good
I write because on the surface
I am collected it seems
all while a storm brews
like coffee
a chaos underneath
I write because along comes the creme
the perfect touch
like fish in a stream
and I begin to feel
the endorphins release
I write because in this moment
I cease fear of judgment
and cast whatever
falls to the page
without any shame
I write because I don’t have to behave
this is me
the purest me I’d say
and in such a disastrous world
I write because this is my name
I write to live
now
then
tomorrow
I write in attempt to make the world less hollow
I write because I am a writer
to contain me in a word
I have a mind that most consider absurd
I write because apparently I like rhyming
perhaps it is soothing
perhaps it’s just natural
I write because those who know me
deserve to see
exactly
what I strive to be
I write because I desire to inspire
above all else
this is true
I write because I write
that’s just what I do
Tagebucheintrag
Wieso schreiben wir keine Briefe mehr?Wieso hören wir keine Platten mehr?Wieso gehen wir nicht mehr ins Theater?Wieso reden wir nicht mehr miteinander?Die einen sagen "Früher war alles besser", die anderen sagen "Das sei bullshit".Vielleicht war früher nicht alles besser. Vielleicht hat man damals einfach alles mehr geschätzt.Es ist traurig, dass wir alles für selbstverständlich nehmen. Wäre es nicht gut, wenn wir wieder die Dinge, die wir tun mehr genießen würden ? Wenn wir anfangen würden das Leben zu genießen ?Natürlich hatte man damals keine Wahl. Aber ein Brief signalisiert weit aus mehr als eine SMS. Eine Platte zu hören hat mehr Wert als irgendeine x-beliebige Musikplattform. Und eine echte Konversation zwischen zwei Menschen ist weit aus ehrlicher, tiefgründiger und bedeutender als sich stundenlang zuzutexten.Ich will das Leben so genießen können, dass es sich nach etwas besonderen anfühlt.Doch kann ich das vor meinen Bildschirmen? Ist das überhaupt möglich ?Ich will Tinte auf Papier.Ich will kratzendes Vinyl. Ich will Shakespeare auf der Bühne.Ich will dich sehen, mit dir reden, mit dir lachen, dich verstehen.
- 11.06.2018
Freaking Moments Despair Celebration!
What, what, WTF?
This week has been a freaking roller coaster ride! Smashed my phone in the weight machine at the gym, new phone set up can be more difficult than buying a new care, and with all that I HAVE WORKED OUT SO GOOD AND I RAN! Oh and the intermittent fasting has gone really well too :) where’s the freaking food?????
Today I really wanted to develop some thoughts around my fitness and eating plan. But now I sit here in this diner and my brian is slow and sleepy, that’s what happens sometimes at 0500 hours! Or maybe its the fasting state of my brain, I might be shutting down, malnourishment setting in and my muscles are wasting away to my fat eating monster cells. HA…really I think it was the amazing bubble bath this morning after a week of ice cold showers post workout.
Why ice cold showers, you ask? Rev’s up the metabolism and stimulates weight loss.
So I posted this to draft only on Friday, but today I am just going to publish and start over. I am not even sure why I decided to write on a boring topic...and besides this is Friday Friends....no Whit on Fitness ;) I can write on any topic I damn well feel like writing about, so that will be what I do. If its fitness, so be it, if it's something totally off base, YAY!
Sometimes, you need your pencils to inspire you

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Mum used to have a glass of red wine every night at dinner. Dad used to come home every Friday night with flowers. Slowly, more wine was being drunk and less flowers were being bought. Mum would tremble and stain her clothes a deep red. Dad would let others stain his collars the same shade. Slowly, all the wine was being drunk and no flowers were being bought. Mum decided not to drink one of the bottles and instead threw it at dad. Dad just stood there tired of the wine and the flowerless vases. Slowly, he packed his things. Mum got into the car and drove off yelling if anyone was leaving, it was going to be her. Dad heard a loud crash and went running out. Slowly, he found mum, held her and their clothes turned a horrible red together. Mum stopped breathing. Dad still hasn't stopped crying. Quickly, I threw out everything red I could find.
Somebody, somewhere
The Beginnings
How bad is it when you reach the end,
when your breath has been trapped and your essence has been shattered.
Tell me
what's the worst that could happen?
Your bones are shaking quite terribly,
but there's nothing to fear.
After all your flesh lives on proving you are still there.
How many words must spill out of your conscious until you can breathe with ease?
You long for a sort of therapy that has not been invented,
a therapy that hugs you tight and strokes the back of your head like momma used to.
Then you wake up alone,
you have to pick your broken pieces.
Tell yourself, "Chin up, darling. New day, clean slate."
And you hope somewhere between the motions and guesswork of living,
you shall find the courage to become who you are meant to be.