I don’t know if I like crying or if I don’t.
It gives me a feeling of relief, but it makes me look weak.
I hate others seeing me like this, it’s fucking embarressing.
But it makes me sleepy, I like that part.
But it makes my eyes tiny and red and my face sticky and my shirt and pillow wet. That part I don’t like so much.
And why do people feel the need to make a joke when you’re crying? I don’t get it. Why do you have to make a joke out of it? I’m not a clown. I dont even know why I’m writing. This is blurry. I think I need a cold mountain dew so I can shutthefuckup.
“Nothing is original. Steal from anywhere that resonates with inspiration or fuels your imagination. Devour old films, new films, music, books, paintings, photographs, poems, dreams, random conversations, architecture, bridges, street signs, trees, clouds, bodies of water, light and shadows. Select only things to steal from that speak directly to your soul. If you do this, your work (and theft) will be authentic. Authenticity is invaluable; originality is nonexistent. And don’t bother concealing your thievery — celebrate it if you feel like it. In any case, always remember what Jean-Luc Godard said: “It’s not where you take things from — it’s where you take them to.”—Jim Jarmusch’s Golden Rules (Rule #5)