I could hear you coming so I hid by the couch. You were talking so loudly, I don’t know what about. You were drunker than high school, self-conscious and sweet. I never ever felt so cool disguised in your sheets.
But I’m a constant headache, a tooth out of line. They try to make you regret it you tell them, no not this time. It’s just a constant headache, a dead pet device. You hang me up, I’m finished with the better part of me no longer mine.
And then you finally found me, pretending to sleep. You said such nice things about me, I felt guilty and cheap. You took two steps to the kitchen, and just stared at the sink. I couldn’t hold back a smile, I still wish I could have seen you having sex in the morning your love was foreign to me. It made me think maybe human is not such a bad thing to be. But I just laid there in protest, entirely fucked, It’s such a stubborn reminder one perfect night is not enough.
It’s just a constant headache, a tooth out of line. They try to make you regret it you tell them, no not this time. It’s just a constant headache, a dead pet device. You hang me up, I’m finished with the better part of me no longer mine.
This record has been constantly playing since it came out.
He had a wall of masks from every country he’d been to, like Armenia and Chile and Ethiopia. “It’s not a horrible world,” he told me, putting a Cambodian mask on his face, “but it’s filled with a lot of horrible people!”
Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close-Jonathan Safran Foer
Lie to me like you used to Tell me everything is how it should be Lie to me, did you have to? Because in the end it never matters what I think And I can barely tell the sky from the shoreline And I can see myself reflected in your eyes
And this was all a dream And it’s coming back to me A portrait in grey scale A perfect betrayal And I can’t even breathe with this weighing on my chest You knew me at my best Now I can’t even stand on my own
“Life continues, and some mornings, weary of the noise, discouraged by the prospect of the interminable work to keep after, sickened also by the madness of the world that leaps at you from the newspaper, finally convinced that I will not be equal to it and that I will disappoint everyone—all I want to do is sit down and wait for evening. This is what I feel like, and sometimes I yield to it.”—Albert Camus (“Letter to P.B.” in Lyrical and Critical Essays (1970))
“I don’t have to tell you things are bad. Everybody knows things are bad. It’s a depression. Everybody’s out of work or scared of losing their job. The dollar buys a nickel’s worth; banks are going bust; shopkeepers keep a gun under the counter; punks are running wild in the street, and there’s nobody anywhere who seems to know what to do, and there’s no end to it. We know the air is unfit to breathe and our food is unfit to eat. And we sit watching our TVs while some local newscaster tells us that today we had fifteen homicides and sixty-three violent crimes, as if that’s the way it’s supposed to be! We all know things are bad — worse than bad — they’re crazy.
It’s like everything everywhere is going crazy, so we don’t go out any more. We sit in the house, and slowly the world we’re living in is getting smaller, and all we say is, Please, at least leave us alone in our living rooms. Let me have my toaster and my TV and my steel-belted radials, and I won’t say anything. Just leave us alone. Well, I’m not going to leave you alone. I want you to get mad! I don’t want you to protest. I don’t want you to riot. I don’t want you to write to your Congressman, because I wouldn’t know what to tell you to write. I don’t know what to do about the depression and the inflation and the Russians and the crime in the street. All I know is that first, you’ve got to get mad. You’ve gotta say,
I’m a human being, goddammit! My life has value!
So, I want you to get up now. I want all of you to get up out of your chairs. I want you to get up right now and go to the window, open it, and stick your head out and yell,
I’m as mad as hell, and I’m not going to take this anymore!!”
Hello my dear, it’s so hard to see you here. How long has it been since we put you in the ground. Oh, it feels like days but it’s been years. Oh please don’t call me baby, it’s too hard to hear. Leave you flowers at your headstone, just sit and talk to you my dear.