Current Jams V

IT’S TIME, PEOPLE. Also, I realized all of these songs are pretty depressing. Enjoy.

  1. “Tropic of Cancer” – Panda Bear. This is a really beautiful song just for the ears alone. It’s also a song I couldn’t imagine doing drugs to, except maybe heroin, but I’m in no rush to do heroin. The lyrics are a bit cryptic but I can relate them to my own mental illness, as I’m sure many other mentally ill people can if they choose to interpret them this way, particularly: “When they said he’s ill / Laughed it off as if it’s no big deal / What a joke”.
  2. “In The Woods Somewhere” – Hozier. Yes, this guy does have other songs besides “Take Me To Church”. I actually like to listen to this as I’m falling asleep sometimes, but it does have a very ominous sound and message behind it. I absolutely love how the scream he hears in the woods turns out to be a fox, since that is very real. The foxes around here sound like fucking demon banshees. This is one of those rare songs that has no chorus and tells a coherent story, and damn, it’s nice.
  3. “Love Buzz” – Anika. I’m normally not a fan of covers, even though Nirvana covered this song anyway (and I love that one as well), but this is great. I was surprised to find that the vocals are female, not female. This has a weird, almost eerie sound, maybe a bit droll to some but I think it’s fantastic.
  4. “Stye Eye” – Dirty Beaches. I can’t rave about Dirty Beaches enough. If I did drugs, he’d be my band. I want to be snorting coke in my leather jacket in a grimy bathroom with Dirty Beaches pounding in the background. I recommend all his music highly. If you can handle intense, lo-fi sounds and inaudible lyrics, give him a shot. This is a song I would also murder someone to. It sounds like a death chant.
  5. “Speed Roadster” – David Lynch. We all know what a fucking genius this man is, but I didn’t discover his music until recently, and goddamn, I love it all. I would describe it as “dismal poetry”, in the best sense of the words. This almost sounds like a teenage revenge song or something. It’s great. I love the line “Maybe you’re happy / I hope you’re not.”
  6. “Stones’ Gone Up” – David Lynch. I’m sorry. I’m repeating an artist. Honestly, I’ve been listening to primarily David Lynch for the past two weeks, so I recommend any of his songs. This one has a faster beat than most of his other work but still has dark, ambiguous lyrics. I assume this song is about a girl dying and some weird dream, so it’s basically like Twin Peaks. Listen to it.
  7. “God Knows I Tried” – Lana Del Rey. My best friend and I are both big Lana Del Rey fans and with each album she released, we pick a song that would be “our song” (one for her, one for me). This is “my” song. It sounds very raw and heartfelt and aching in that sense, like a plea. It’s definitely one of my top favorites off of her newest album.
  8. “Del Rio” – St. Vincent. I think this is a bonus track on her self-titled album. This is one of my favorites of hers to sing along to, mostly because it’s one of the few I actually can and not sound like a dying whale. Well, at least I hope not. It has some pizzaz to it, a little bit of friendly fury. It’s written about/in reference to one of Annie’s actual best friends and I can only imagine what an honor that must be for him.
  9. “Blood on the Leaves” – Kanye West. I have a love/hate relationship with this song. I’m not sure if Nina Simone’s original vocals from her song “Strange Fruit (Blood on the Leaves)” are used on this track, but someone sings those lyrics in the background regardless. This is another song with fury and aggression, but in the more true sense of those words. I think the lyrics are well-done, honestly. I’m sort of ashamed of how much of a Kanye West fan I am when it comes to his music because we all know he’s a douchebag in actuality.

You Win, I Lose.

It’s Saturday night, I got home from work just over an hour ago, and I’m just in bed wallowing in sadness.

I feel lonely. Really lonely. It’s not a good feeling.

I feel like I’ve missed out on so much and will continue to miss out on things. Romantic things. Relationships. Whatever. Those things.

The other night B, S, M, and I all hung out together. We hadn’t seen each other as a group in months. We got to talking, and S, who’s been dating a guy (who was her friend for a long time before they began a romantic relationship), told us she finally had sex with him (this is the first time she’s had sex period), and they’ve done it multiple times, and it’s good.

So after me being the invasive, nay, curious, person I am, I said, “Well, at least someone in the group is having regular sex.” Then my friend M proceeds to tell me that not even two weeks after her long-term boyfriend whom she was supposedly in love with dumped her, an old fling came back into her life and they’ve been hanging out, having sex, and generally being cute together.

I’m kind of dumbfounded at this point. Earlier that day I was wondering how people even achieved sex, let alone relationships, and here two of my closest friends are achieving both effortlessly. For fuck’s sake, M literally just broke up with her boyfriend. This other guy was just ready to jump on her??

I deactivated my online dating account a few weeks ago. I do that. I’ll activate it, realize it makes me feel even more destitute, then deactivate.

I know I’m no prize. I know this. I know most people look at me and think I’m the opposite of attractive. Men know I’m an unattractive, nonthreatening chick they can talk to about stupid shit, straight women think I’m more beautiful than fucking Aphrodite but they’re fucking straight, and gay/bi/pan women don’t realize I exist. But I know this: I’m cool as hell, I’m complicated but I’m intellectual and can carry on a conversation, I’m talented, and I’m caring. I know I have so much to offer. I really do. It makes me so sad that no one is willing to take a chance on me. I’ve been told time and time again by those who have tried to give me a chance that I’m too negative, I’m not good for them, I need to “love myself.” News flash! I DO love myself. I may not love myself physically. I hate my body, I hate all of my excess weight and the stretch marks and how flat my ass is and I’d kill for a better jawline, but fuck, I do love myself despite all of that.

I just went to that wedding, I see couples all the time, people tell me about their sex lives, I’m just tired of feeling and being so unwanted by everyone.

But what it comes down to is this – it will not happen anytime soon.

And I know this. I’ve told myself this every year for many years. But I can’t accept it. And that will be my downfall.


The Library, The Wedding, The Longing.

I’m on the second floor of the campus library. I feel like this library should be bigger. The library at my community college had smaller floors in terms of dimension but there were four floors – this library has two floors and they’re not that big. I brought my headphones but forgot my iPod in the car, but thankfully almost no one is on the second floor. I was hoping it’d be more interesting, or maybe there’d be some corridor I could shimmy out of and smoke. I used to sneak smokes on this awning at my old school. Now I realize how risky that was, considering they’ll kick your ass, financially speaking, if they even catch you smoking a hundred feet from the doors.

When I got up here I saw two small water bottles filled with some brownish liquid. They’ve obviously been here a while – cobwebs are connected to one. I knelt down and unscrewed one of the caps, half-hoping it would be some weird homemade wine or beer, but it was just root beer. Why?

My friend and I are making a trip to the res for smokes today, and although I’m not the one driving, I’m still not looking forward to it. And I’m not looking forward to spending money, but, you know, I have an addiction and all. Speaking of addictions, I keep having dreams about desperately wanting to, but being unable to, kill my “sex addict” mother.

This past weekend I went to my best friend’s brother’s wedding. It was at a country museum in bum fuck nowhere, but it was beautiful. My friend and I were the hottest people there, which wasn’t hard to achieve, but it’s still a massive achievement for us. Although my dress was modest, it was black lace and I wore black tights and black stilettos and even after five free beers I walked like I knew what the fuck I was about. When the bride’s father was making his speech I thought to myself, “If I do ever get married, I do not want my parents there.” I took advantage of the open beer and wine bar (except I don’t like wine, so classy-as-ever-me was guzzling Coors Light like the world was ending and pissing in the Port-O-Potty every hour), and when I watched my friend get up, forced to dance with the other bridesmaids and the groomsmen, I thought, in my slightly drunken state, of how much I love her and want to see her happy, too.

She and I even got on the dance floor. I don’t really like to dance, and I do not dance well, but after a while, I got into it, still in those fucking heels. I kept those heels on for nine hours. I walked all the way to the other side of the grounds to the car in those heels. I refused to be one of those women who just gives up and takes them off. Fight through the pain. And all throughout that wedding, I wasn’t thinking about my homework, or my failures, or my family, or whatever. I was just there. Drinking beer, asking 12 year olds about their little lives, and dancing to catchy pop songs.

I could honestly very easily cry right now but there’s no solid reason behind it. I am one of those people who is so fixated on the nostalgia of the past, yet so anxious by the daunting unknown future. I crave affection. Sometimes I just want someone to twirl strands of my hair and run their fingers down my back. I crave freedom in the sense of feeling free of my mental handicaps, free of the emotional turmoil and the black sludge that clogs my chest. I long for the way things once were – simple and uncomplicated, light and easy. I realize now that I am doing what I never wanted to do: I’m simply just getting by. I don’t want to “just get by”, I want to enjoy my life.

Anyway. This has been a mess of a post. I should go smoke now.


“You Have Talent”

I love the story I wrote for my fiction class. I can say that wholeheartedly. I actually regret submitting it to a SUNY literary magazine for possible publication because I honestly think it’s good enough to be published somewhere else. It’s not often I churn out a piece of prose I love this much.

I tried not to look at the critiques posted online, but couldn’t resist. There is one person in my class, much older than the rest of us, more insightful (I envy his ability in that regard), and not afraid to say what he has to say, though always in a professional manner. His critique was the one I was most “worried” about, however, what I saw from him was not what I expected:

Imagery: the cornerstone of this story, and a clear gift within the writer’s toolbox. It’s dripping from each moment. It’s not a catalogue of wandering vistas, but a series of interconnected tastes and memories that loop back on the word ‘shattered.’

You have talent. Which is a useless piece of datum, however praise has its own value. But because you’re a writer and I’m a writer let’s get down to it. I think you’re pulling punches. You could be quicker with the delivery of detail. I would bet a dollar that’s exactly what you want to do but hesitate because this class is an exercise in being critiqued more than an effort of true creation. Let the sweetness cut me, eliminate some words, get me to the flavor and get me there now. Because you have a story here that doesn’t quite get off the ground though it threatens to. Don’t worry, it’s basically the process all short-stories go through. On a rewrite, take Vonnegut’s advice: try to write as close to the end as you can.

I’d very much like to see revisions and additions to the story’s unfolding. And writer to writer, I could stand to learn a few things from your kinetic descriptions of objects.

Yes, it’s true, my story is teeming with imagery and vivid descriptions and detail. But now, I did not write it that way because of this class. What I want to do is what I did, and that’s that. I don’t appreciate my skill of writing imagery being praised while simultaneously being insulted. This critique screams, “You obviously can do better, so start writing for yourself, not the class.” I’m not writing for anyone but myself, and the fact that I won’t be able to tell this person that, defend my work and myself, is going to drive me insane. Critiques are difficult for every writer. But it’s even more difficult when someone makes an assumption about the way you write, or worse, “who” you’re writing for.

Also, I’m taking that “You have talent” shit as more of an insult than a compliment.



After seeing my psychiatrist today (what an even that was), he said we should stop the Lithium (I’ve been taking 900mg for a few months now). He was open to the idea of an add-on at first (I suggested Tegretol, as I’ve had positive effects with it in the past), but once he asked about the side effects of Lithium I experience (nausea, terrible acne, stomach issues), he said we stop just get rid of it. He gave me some sample packets of Latuda, 20mg each.

I have some reading to do on it before I take any of it, but if anyone has had any experience with it, particularly in conjunction with any form of bipolar disorder, let me know.


Lunch Break

I’ve been at work since 10:40am. I’m in the men’s department today and there’s nothing to do. The older men are rude. There’s nothing to even fold. I’m out of my element. My car is still leaking transmission fluid even after three repairs and I don’t know what to do. I’m fucking tired and have so much homework to do later. So much reading. I’m exhausted and angry, and while in the shoe storage room, I punched the wall. I glanced into the electrical room and wondered if there was any way to kill myself via electrocution. It’s 2:10 pm, I have 5 more hours of standing left. The coffee I made this morning was terrible. I want to die. I want someone to tell me I am trying my best.