MY KRAZY LIFE ZIP STANDARD FULL
MY KRAZY LIFE ZIP STANDARD CODE

To be honest, I doubt my Western World rap-centric reading is entirely in keeping with the pure Japanese concept of wabi-sabi, but I’m going to use it as a jumping off point to talk about something that’s very important to me: art that sidesteps any aims towards the conventional metrics of “beauty” or “perfection” and why it’s important. The aesthetic is sometimes described as one of beauty that is “imperfect, impermanent, and incomplete”. Wabi– sabi represents a comprehensive Japanese world view or aesthetic centered on the acceptance of transience and imperfection.

This entry was posted in Uncategorized on Februby skizza306. I don’t even know if this is finished or not. My ultimate goal is controlling my angle.

MY KRAZY LIFE ZIP STANDARD CODE

God-mode cheat code is controlling your own angle. I was explaining the word parallax to my friend tonight. Most of my friends can cakewalk my minefields. The thing is there are people who can cakewalk through my minefields. But somehow the next rock wall and the next 18-wheeler gets no easier. Like I was climbing cliff faces with bloody fingertips with rock-walls slick with sleet and somehow I do it. I do it every day of my life but every time it feels impossible, like I was looking at an 18-wheeler stuck in the snow and I have to push it out myself. How often do you correct yourself? How many times do you stifle your voice or shut down yourself in the average day? If I type until my fingers bleed, how many keystrokes will be the backspace button? I have as little advice to offer her as I have to offer myself. That which connects us divides us, but that which divides us connects us. I’m writing this while I discuss the concept of love with my friend who is in a pain that I might never feel. If we did then we wouldn’t be lonely anymore. The weird thing is I’m almost 500 words in and I really still haven’t said anything. That I should probably be the cartographer.Ĭartographer rhymes with heart monitor. That I maybe should have never been the treasure hunter in the first place.

MY KRAZY LIFE ZIP STANDARD FULL

That I strap up ropes and shovels and ride camel-back through the desert to an X-marks-the-spot and uncover a chest full of I don’t give a fucks. Guided by societal pressures and what my friends and family have accomplished and where someone my age is “supposed” to be that I lose myself in the creases of the treasure map. The moments where I want to “make my life better” are so directionless. It should not be good enough to me to be “better than” but again that muscle tension comes in. When did caring become failure? What happened where the only way to lose an argument was to give a single fuck about what you’re talking about? I don’t fuck with “trolling” and “bait” and, as much as I love Killa Cam more than any human who doesn’t intercourse with him should, I don’t fuck with “u mad?” either. When I try to write something that isn’t camouflaged beneath layers of metaphor, irony, post-modern self-referential other-hyphenated-buzzword-flashy-literature-bullshit and basically verbal memes that let me say what I say without saying that I was saying what I’m saying so if anyone asked what I was saying I could say “jus’ sayin’” That hamstring-muscle tingley tension flies up when I try to write something like this. I have a tendency to binge drink, but I also justify it to myself as being “better than psychoactives” or “better than SSRI’s” or “better than self-harming” or anything else that has ever replaced whiskey and Spirograph designs of self-doubt that leave me awake 36+ hours straight rotating rubix cubes in my brain or interlocking tetrominos (double-word score for tetrominos) A lot of that comes down to the stuff I put in my stomach. Tonight I was at a constant pull between what I think is right, and what I want. Life is Stretch-Armstrong corn syrup tension between these opposites. Tension is the only word I can find for what it is. That’s the difference between who you are and who you want to be. Until your whole core strains and quivers with tension. When you’re doing stretch drills in gym class and you have to split your left and right leg out as far as you can until it hurts. Obviously this is weapons-grade bullshit. That typing on Facebook or texting my friends is the same thing as “writing” because it’s easier than facing the fact that I’ve spent ten years wanting to do something that I’ve spent ten years avoiding doing. I convince myself that I’m not wasting my talents.

My krazy life zip standard