A Tea Party for my Un-Birthday

Change. Upgrade! The colors in here were too dark. I'd get a bad vibe everytime I was on my page and that's the last thing I should expect from my own blog.

I scraped the grime and rust off myself yesterday. I went outside. The weather was beautiful and I walked around mindlessly for a good two hours with phenomenal beats swelling up my brain. For the first time in weeks, the creative streak hit me again. The ideas were flowing, flowing, flowing, pouring right out of them pores.
These last few weeks (months, years..) have been horrifyingly stagnant, boring, lifeless. I'd get through my days in a zombie-like state, not being able to form any valid opinion on anything, too careless and discouraged to bother myself with lifting my pinky.

Tonight, I'm sipping on a bit of wine and I'll drink to all of you, to your smiles and to the stars in your eyes. I'll have fun, and I'll finally put those dusty old cells up there to some good use (well, the ones that are left at least) .

Happy Un-Birthday to all of you..! (unless it really is your birthday..)

<3>

Dessine-moi un mouton... [mais ne le deviens pas]

Only ~Alice~ knows what all the commotion about the hospital nurses was. No person in their right mind would let an 18 year old kid back out into the gloomy, lukewarm waters of the sky high tadpoles after hearing about their master plan involving a spoon, a needle, some heroin and of course, the fatal overdose.
Two head doctors poked at my thought bubbles.
One was concerned, the other said 'you can call your parents to come pick you up if you want.'

I'm not upset, just perplexed. And anyways, it wasn't a for-real type of deal. I know what'll put me 6 feet under and that definitly wasn't it. A couple of demons raped and spat on the pixies in my head.
I don't know.
I guess I'm completely fucking delusional. There's no pot of gold at the of the rainbow, I know that much is true. And I like to think that I already am strolling on the neon colored clouds.

maybe I'm delusional.

I feel out of place.

And sometimes I feel like the Little Prince.

Often I feel like Alice... and the Cheshire Cat's mischevious pearly whites mock me with every step I take.

Who are you and why are you in my life?

Who the fuck am I?

I have no fucking clue what I'm doing here. Why I'm here. If and Why I should adhere to the standards of society..

Maybe I'm born a couple of decades too late?

Where are our generation's beatniks?

Where are the unshackled souls hiding?

Under a rock?
In the sand?


...

Then again, even the beatniks didn't seem to get it right.

I don't know what I'll be doing when I'm 60... 40... 30...
I don't even know what I'll be doing in an hour.

Maybe I'm horribly immature in my way of thinking, but the now is what's important, right? And if I'm not enjoying myself doing something, then why bother doing it at all?
Why spend my life focusing on a mortgage on a house and retiring to Mickey Mouse's Mind Numbing Bed&Breakfast?

No, I don't want to become that.
No, I really don't give a flying fuck whether or not I get a promotion and buy IKEA furniture.

I'm losing interest in comic books and dinner parties.

That's alright. You can call me a flower if you really wanted to.