Hey everybody! So I just finished this book “Singing in the Pain: My Dance With Chronic Illness” by Ryan J. Safford! This would be the first book I’ve ever read by choice that wasn’t a fiction book, and it was such a great read! This guy is truly amazing on how he goes on about living life with chronic pain. It also made me think about life, and how much appreciation I should be giving to it. I don’t have chronic pain myself, but I deeply wish those that have it the best! I truly admire all of you who deal with chronic pain! You’re true warriors!! Thanks @ry_artwork for writing your book, it was very different from what I would normally read, but I’m glad your story made me adventurous in exploration! I strongly recommend others in giving this book a read! #singinginthepain #chronicillness #nonfictionbooks #greatreads #thingsyoushouldread #selfpublished #ryanjsafford #artists #supportchronicillnesses #supportlocalartists (at Hayward, California) https://www.instagram.com/p/CWHm5vqFgnp/?utm_medium=tumblr

Rereading Trigun Maximum for the 1000000th time. #thingsyoushouldread #trigun #trigunmaximum #yasuhironightow #thingsthatneed #anime #reboot #s

Remove all periods They are scars made by words I could't bring myself to say

Charles Simic

Six worded poem

Drink me like an expensive wine.

It’s two a.m. The emergency room psychiatrist looks up from his clipboard with eyes paid to care and asks me if I see people who aren’t really there. I say, “I see people how the hell am I supposed to know if they’re real or not?” He doesn’t laugh neither do I. The math’s not on my side ten stitches and one lie. I swear I wasn’t trying to die. I just wanted to see what my pulse looked like from the inside. Fast forward one year. I’m standing in an auditorium behind a microphone reading a poem to four hundred latino high school kids who live with the breath of the INS crawling up their mother’s backbones and I am frantically hiding my scars ‘cause the last thing I want these kids to know is that I ever thought that my life was too hard. I’ve never seen a bomb drop. I’ve never felt hunger. I’ve also never seen lightning strike but we’ve all heard thunder and it doesn’t take a genius to tell something’s burning. The smoke rises between us, forming walls so high they split the sky like slit wrists and then the stars fall like blood. We’re all left with nothing, but a death wish. He said, “call me by my true name I am the child in uganda all skin and bone” Do you remember the rest? how about this one… Jesus wept. America, Jesus wept but look at your eyes dry as the desert sand dusting the edges of your soldier’s wedding bans. Look at your soul playing dead because your ribcage is abu ghraib is san quintin is guantanamo bay and your heart had beaten them so many times they bleed the moon. Do you know children in Palestine fly kites to prove that they are still free? Can you imagine how that string must feel between their fingers as they kneel in the cinders of our missile heads I wonder what the dead in warsaw would say about the taxes we pay without thought of funding another holocaust. The bough is breaking. The cradle is falling. Right now a six-year old girl is crutched in a ditch in Lebanon wishing on falling bombs. Right now our government is recording the test scores of black and Latino 4th graders to see how many prison beds will be needed in the year 2015. Right now there’s a man on the street outside that door with outstretched hands full of heart beats no one can hear. He has cheeks like torn sheet music, Every tear a broken crescendo falling on deaf ears. At his side there’s a girl with eyes like an anthem that no one stands up for. Doctor, our insanity is not that we see people who aren’t there. It’s that we ignore the ones who are. Till we find ourselves scarred and ashamed walking into emergency rooms at two a.m. flooded with a pain we cannot name or explain because we are bleeding from the outside in. Skin is not impervious. Cultures built on greed and war do not pick and choose who they kill. We all fill the graves. Do we really believe our need for Prozac has nothing to do with Baghdad, with Kabul, with the Mexican border with the thousands of US school kids bleeding through budget cuts that will never heal to fuel war tanks? Thank god for denial. Thank god we can afford the makeup to pile upon the face of it all. Look at the pretty world. Look at all the pretty people and the sky with a missile between her teeth and a steeple through her heart and not a single star left to hold her And the voices of a thousand broken nations saying “wake me, wake me, when the American dream is over”

When The Bough Breaks by Andrea Gibson

Dia Davina//A Boy Called Everything

What's Wrong?

She asked, “what’s wrong?” and I said, “I’m fine. I’m just tired,” and she said, “no, you’re not, what’s wrong?” and I turned and smiled and said “I’m just tired, I’m fine,” because that is all I know how to say anymore but I am not okay I am tired in fact I am exhausted.

I tried to explain it to her. I said “I’m tired, I’m bored,” and she said “well, if you’re ever bored just text me,” and I thought that’s not what I meant. I am bored with this life, I am tired of living this way I am tired of living.

I am done with everything. My friends tend to bore me, and I think this apathy will be the death of me. I have an IQ of 138, which puts me in the top 2% of the population in terms of intelligence and this does not make me happy.

Daisy Buchanan once said that she wants nothing more than for her daughter to be a beautiful fool. When I first read Fitzgerald, I couldn’t stop thinking about how right he was. I am in the top 2% of the population and I want nothing more than to be a beautiful fool and it’s not because I want to be pretty; it’s because I want to be ignorant.

They say that ignorance is bliss and lately, I’ve been craving that.

See overthinking, and thinking in general, is painful. The smartest people are often cynics because they’ve seen the world for what it truly is and this did not make them happy.

When people are in deep thought they tend to look unhappy and not just indifferent but sad and this leads me to believe that wondering (in addition to wandering) can be very painful. Knowledge itself can be painful.

Which leads me to the ironic question: Why do people ask questions?

---

something I wrote a while ago couldn't sleep and thought i'd share