i don’t know. there’s just something about a smiths sing-along that just breaks your heart. something about hearing people screaming the words in the next room while you stare into your glass, beer flat and disgusting. people dancing and laughing and kissing, and you’re just there. and you feel so alone. you don’t have anyone. you don’t have someone. no one that is right there, ready to bear themself whenever you look at them. intimately, whole-heartedly, because they’re yours. and you sit there thinking why and please and why again. and there’s just something about having a smiths song playing in the next room, hearing everyone scream along when you just want to hear it alone in your bedroom. and you realize that you’ve given away your headphones for the night. and you’re so lonely. it’s devastating.
when your head’s been running for a while and you’re entrenched in the deepest hours of the night, the part of your brain that stops you from going too crazy grows a bit tired. the barrier appears to get lower and lower. you become more creative, find yourself coming up with ideas and wanting to do and do and do. of course, it also allows you to think and think and think. you think yourself into wanting everything and anything, and suddenly you’ve stumbled upon that damn feeling again. loneliness. as the years go by, so much changes, but the only thing that changes about that feeling is that you understand more and more about that one thing that you’re missing. or really that you understand more and more about what you don’t understand about that thing that you’re missing. it’s not really nice to want so much and find yourself in the darkest hours, thinking about it. frankly, it blows.
i’m in the sky when i’m on the floor
the world’s a mess and you’re my only cure
there’s no time for me to act mature
the only words i know are “more, more” and “more”
lost in translation is one of those movies that let you dive into another world completely. i watch it, and i feel something stir inside me, something foreign and completely familiar at the same time. the story just hits hard. and the visuals, they’re stunning. recklessness and tranquility, harsh neons and pastels – opposite ends of a spectrum blending together to make the most beautiful picture in motion. sofia coppola is great at that. a softness that’s real. heartfelt.
she sat outside, staring at the empty playground. alcohol flowing into veins, dissolving caution. she had an honest conversation with herself. if it’s supposed to be warm out, then why does she feel so cold? she told herself that if you looked into her eyes, you’d see nothing. a hollow void. a concrete wall. then she remembered that she wasn’t in front of a mirror, and couldn’t really see herself. a laugh escaped her, but the sound triggered a deep sadness. why was it so empty? why didn’t the giddiness sound rooted? because it was floating. false in its fleetingness. fuck this, she thought. taking a last swig of liquid numbness, she blew away her musings. left her loneliness and let it fly away into space.