01:13 am, eradicatebeauty
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just so you guys know I’m still a fat piece of shit

and now I run a supernatural blog

so


12:34 am, eradicatebeauty
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On Drinking

Alcoholism sounds romantic in the movies.

Bukowski spent his time drinking himself to death, fucking, and gambling. The man is one of the greatest poets of all time. Beautiful, talented people, often go mad, lose their minds, lose their hearts. They starve to death yet drink to kill the pain.

We all have our own ways of coping.

Here is what I notice:

I drink too much because I can be honest. Because sometimes its the only thing that feels real. Because it often feels like the world is pushing itself onto my mind. Because I often often often feel alone, unsure, unfulfilled with my life. I feel insecure and idiotic because I have nothing worth saying to day. 

Alcohol is my perfect social lubricant.

I’m sick in the head and I’m sick in the heart. My ever expanding stomach asks, “Did it ever really happen?”

Sometimes I don’t know the answer. 

My scars ask, “Were we really worth it?”

What matters? What matters?

I feel myself among the greats but I cannot form these words and I cannot write poetry. My bones ache with forgetfulness. 

I watch people and I wait. 


07:48 pm, eradicatebeauty
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I am an old, beaten down version of myself.

Alcohol.

You sputter through dialects. Adult chatter, preferences. Aging yourself through experience. Aging yourself as you put a tender hand on your lover. Glowering under a light, luminescence of your old self. Panic because you need a new direction, a new world.

And what I want to tell you all is that it brings me great comfort that in an alternate universe, I am a different person. You are all different people. It brings me great comfort to consider perception, to consider a fourth dimension, to consider that I do not see all there is to see, that my own importance isn’t limited to my limited universe, that I am not benign but endless and part of a whole and more than the sum of my parts and it takes no shame to admit that I feel alone surrounded by people i’ve known for years and it takes no shame to admit that I have nothing to say because

I’m rather be sitting on the hood of my car on top of a mountain looking at stars and have hushed whisperings of secrets and fears and desires and where you think you’ll be later on and where each of your scars is from.

Everything feels bland. Everything tastes the same. I want passion and I get repetition. I am the problem. 

 


It used to be so much easier. 

But now I’m drinking. Drunkenly you’ll hold my hand or confess to your fears and trust me and make me feel alive again. No more talk about the weather, your classes. 

please listen


03:26 pm, eradicatebeauty
1 note
video

07:14 pm, eradicatebeauty
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video

(Source: Spotify)


01:15 pm, eradicatebeauty
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Who has not asked himself at some time or other: am I a monster or is this what it means to be a person?
Clarice Lispector  (via politepoet)

(Source: oofpoetry)


01:04 pm, eradicatebeauty
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I wrote about neuroplasticity a few days ago. It is one of my favorite subjects to write about because it enforces the idea of free will - of decisions being able to form biology, making ourselves personal gods. 

However, I am also very enthusiastic about genetic predispositions for behaviors, particularly character, addictions, and mental illness.

These are two seemingly contradicting beliefs that overlap to accurately represent my own biases and thus my own explanations for humanity. Its common to pick facts and theories that identify with our own self-perceptions, somehow bringing a sense of comfort and power in the scientific understanding of the self.

At which point does “scientific explanation” become an excuse? When does poor behavior demonstrate a weakness of character rather than a genetic and environmental storm that may cause a mental/physical downfall? We can blame our paranoia of seeing things in the dark as a natural evolution of fear and the visual acuity of identifying biologic movements, yet this evolutionary trait is not practical in modern society and is expected to be “overcome” by the individual. 

When an individual is faced with a dilemma between a simple flaw of character, does this person dismiss it and accept it or try to work their way through it, work their way around it? How severe does a flaw of character have to be in order to necessitate change? 

The way somebody perceives their “flaw” may affect the way they develop as a person. If a person invests themselves in the idea of neuroplasticity and free will, all can be overcome. There is data to support this. You can, in theory, out think yourself of obsessive compulsive disorder, depression, perhaps even anxiety and shyness. 

On the opposite end of this coin, these conditions may be exasperated by mentally labeling them as wrong. If people internalized and took responsibility for each personality flaw that they may have, that they may have always had, then guilt and isolation would be an immediate reaction.

This is what I notice:

Neuroplasticity takes time. Months, perhaps years.

Personal flaws or illnesses are constant. 

Immediate relief can come from indulging the illness.

Long term relief is not a concept that modern society enforces.

Repeated bad situations create a negative bias. Repeated failure is painful unless you do not fear failure or expect failure.

One moment or situation can create an actual change in your mental physiology. You may literally never be the same.

Here is what I notice: It doesn’t matter.


12:27 pm, eradicatebeauty
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I stopped dying the moment I started writing

10:51 pm, eradicatebeauty
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a.) I believe there is still a lot of good in the world.

b.) We exist simultaneously as all we ever were and all we ever will be. 

c.) Your mind is malleable. If you construct your thoughts around painful experiences, somehow put a new spin on them, you’ll physically change the constructs of your brain. You really can think yourself out of things.

Remember that when everything feels out of control 


01:02 am, eradicatebeauty
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I’d like to write a long and eloquent post on insomnia but all I can say is this:

At the very end of the summer, something snapped and night was no longer night. I was awake at night and slept during the day. I found solace in the fragmented hope that I wasn’t alone - no, simply, I was not on humanity’s correct frequency. 

As long as me, vagrants, and alcoholics have something in common I’ll never feel lost.

So, at the very end of the summer, I lay in bed at five in the morning and I can’t take the silence so I get up and I walk. It is pitch black outside. I’m listening to a series of podcasts. I walk and then I start to run. When the running hurts I walk. When the walking hurts I stop and look around. I was hoping for a sunrise. It was cloudy. So it goes.

This is what I noticed. I noticed the texture of the grass that I would pick and play with on my journey. I noted early morning joggers. They must have felt so alive. I walked along the highway where two teenagers were asking for money at a stoplight. I noticed people on their morning commute. 

I walked for three hours. I went home. I went to sleep. 

And I feel like I would have given anything to not be the only one awake. To be on frequency with others who just got out of sync. 

People say we get out of sync sometimes and yet everybody in this orchestra is keeping rhythm. I show up late for the show. 

Why am I always the last one awake?