I was contemplating on taking a marijuana hiatus since my recent highs haven’t been all too enjoyable, but…hell…tonight, I am feeling fantastic.
Paired with a free redbull, this is one of those incredible wired highs. Far from couch-locked and cloudy like it’s been these past few weeks. This is the kind of high where the idea of sleeping upsets you. Where you want to take in as much as you can, breathe as much fresh air into your lungs as they will hold. The kind of high where you stay outside for as long as you can specifically and solely to feel the wind through the tiny hairs on your body.
I want to marvel at everything: physical and non-physical. Every single thing is art: from the declaratory way the ice-cold water I am sipping travels from my mouth to my stomach to the unintentional story that the arbitrarily placed books on my bookcase seem to be telling.
I am wide awake at 4AM because I want to be. This is refreshing.
These past few weeks, Tumblr has felt...dare I say it...pointless...
I have always recognized it as time consuming, a wealth of inspiration that never leads to anything, but I would still scroll endlessly down my dash and reblog mindlessly.
But recently, thankfully, even, I have been finding it simply a bore. Maybe I’m following the wrong people. Maybe the time I have wasted is biting me in the ass. But hey…my book is no longer left unopen on my nightstand. My notebook is no longer hungry with empty pages.
So yeah, see my less frequent posts as a good thing.
“Always be drunk.
The great imperative!
In order not to feel
Time’s horrid fardel
bruise your shoulders,
grinding you into the earth,
get drunk and stay that way.
On wine, poetry, virtue, whatever.
But get drunk.
And if you sometimes happen to wake up
on the porches of a palace,
in the green grass of a ditch,
in the dismal loneliness
of your own room,
your drunkenness gone or disappearing,
ask the wind,
ask everything that flees,
everything that groans
everything that speaks,
ask what time it is;
and the wind,
will answer you:
“Time to get drunk!
Don’t be martyred slaves of Time,
On wine, virtue, poetry, whatever!”—Charles Baudelaire (via disappearinginthefade)
"Ouch I have lost myself again; Lost myself and I am nowhere to be found. I think that I might break, I’ve lost myself again and I feel unsafe. Be my friend, hold me, wrap me up, unfold me. I am small, I’m needy. Warm me up and breathe me."
“I didn’t want my picture taken because I was going to cry. I didn’t know why I was going to cry, but I knew that if anybody spoke to me or looked at me too closely the tears would fly out of my eyes and the sobs would fly out of my throat and I’d cry for a week. I could feel the tears brimming and sloshing in me like water in a glass that is unsteady and too full.”—Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar (via anditslove)