Now I am ready to go to Tartu, though it is
not the same for me anymore. It is ruined.
The scent and electricity is dead.
Though there are a lot of good memories
and all, but the bitter emotion wages
everything up and the scale is broken.
Today I understood, I can't listen to
indiepop nor blues that way like I used to.
Many bands are ripped into small paper
pieces. Torned apart. Washed away with
the muse and with the wind. With the
seawater.
I am restless. This is one of those reasons
why I change the blog layout so often
lately. Being satisfied is like a cage and
there is no other one but myself, who can
catch the tide and brake free.
I have hobby. It is introspection. And this
blog is one part of this self-examination. I
whine, yeah. But I whine with results.
Starting to think more... what is good and
what is not so good for me and my
alteregos. I take a deep breath and sigh, as
You all have to tolerate me and my
confused thoughts over these games that
life plays with us, and yet I am ready to
swallow every tiny bit of a refelction of
myself and my mistakes. Will ever learn?.
Three times it has happened. Three times
have my parents payed my mistakes and
depbts. What the hell is wrong with me?.
Why I keep doing this over and over again?.
I ask it constantly. More than just once
every single day in past four months.
Mistakes should be for learning and not
commiting them again, but still some dont
learn or refuse to learn, like me. Three is the final number. Enough!. If I dont start to think and act like someone in my age, then I will loose the last sober corners in my damned brain.
Speaking of my poor tortured and overthinking brain.. I need to find a job. I need to go and see this my new psychiatrist ((Rein Luuk was sooo mucho mucho better than this dandy)) and ask a letter from him. He wants my brain to get examined. But as being unemployee means I have to pay like A LOT money for doctor visits and this sucks big time. It is enough that I am living on my parents shoulders.
So yeah, you have to suffer under my bubbleing brain and read those stupid, meaningless words that walk through the doors on the top of my fingertips.
*
Today I finished another new improvisation painting/drawing. Cartool-like as allways. Unfortunately I dont have the picture about it, so you'd have to wait, but I do have the description for it:
On that pic i have some stitched "human"/"ragdoll" that is poisongreen and has dreads and heath-hens all over its face; its legs have roots and its fingers have grown together and it has one "ear" that is actually a speaker stitched to its head. Then in the sky is purple head, with an eye. the sky is in red/brown/yellow/orange; the ground is with black roots and poisonyellow and indigoblue.
on the lowest edge of paper are three classcans, each have mutant embryos; and through the ragdools neck are going through three spikes and the longest goes through the biggest can and embryo and there are some "water" splash, stiped; also there is grass growong between the cans; and bubbles come out from them too.
Rocka Chase
xxx
not the same for me anymore. It is ruined.
The scent and electricity is dead.
Though there are a lot of good memories
and all, but the bitter emotion wages
everything up and the scale is broken.
Today I understood, I can't listen to
indiepop nor blues that way like I used to.
Many bands are ripped into small paper
pieces. Torned apart. Washed away with
the muse and with the wind. With the
seawater.
I am restless. This is one of those reasons
why I change the blog layout so often
lately. Being satisfied is like a cage and
there is no other one but myself, who can
catch the tide and brake free.
I have hobby. It is introspection. And this
blog is one part of this self-examination. I
whine, yeah. But I whine with results.
Starting to think more... what is good and
what is not so good for me and my
alteregos. I take a deep breath and sigh, as
You all have to tolerate me and my
confused thoughts over these games that
life plays with us, and yet I am ready to
swallow every tiny bit of a refelction of
myself and my mistakes. Will ever learn?.
Three times it has happened. Three times
have my parents payed my mistakes and
depbts. What the hell is wrong with me?.
Why I keep doing this over and over again?.
I ask it constantly. More than just once
every single day in past four months.
Mistakes should be for learning and not
commiting them again, but still some dont
learn or refuse to learn, like me. Three is the final number. Enough!. If I dont start to think and act like someone in my age, then I will loose the last sober corners in my damned brain.
Speaking of my poor tortured and overthinking brain.. I need to find a job. I need to go and see this my new psychiatrist ((Rein Luuk was sooo mucho mucho better than this dandy)) and ask a letter from him. He wants my brain to get examined. But as being unemployee means I have to pay like A LOT money for doctor visits and this sucks big time. It is enough that I am living on my parents shoulders.
So yeah, you have to suffer under my bubbleing brain and read those stupid, meaningless words that walk through the doors on the top of my fingertips.
*
Today I finished another new improvisation painting/drawing. Cartool-like as allways. Unfortunately I dont have the picture about it, so you'd have to wait, but I do have the description for it:
On that pic i have some stitched "human"/"ragdoll" that is poisongreen and has dreads and heath-hens all over its face; its legs have roots and its fingers have grown together and it has one "ear" that is actually a speaker stitched to its head. Then in the sky is purple head, with an eye. the sky is in red/brown/yellow/orange; the ground is with black roots and poisonyellow and indigoblue.
on the lowest edge of paper are three classcans, each have mutant embryos; and through the ragdools neck are going through three spikes and the longest goes through the biggest can and embryo and there are some "water" splash, stiped; also there is grass growong between the cans; and bubbles come out from them too.
Rocka Chase
xxx
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