“Nobody’s perfect. There was never a perfect person around. You just have half-angel and half-devil in you.” —Days of Heaven (1978)
(Source: cinyma)
(Source: desarios, via cliffpantones)
(Source: cliffpantones)
Money really means nothing to me. Do you think I’d treat my parents’ house this way if it did?
(Source: jimmyconways, via cliffpantones)
(Source: desarios, via hanniballecters)
“I would never bother you
I would never promise to
I will never follow you
I will never bother you
Never say a word again
I will crawl away for good
I will move away from here
You won’t be afraid of fear
No thought was put into this
I always knew it would come to this
Things have never been so swell
And I have never failed to fail
Pain
Pain
Pain
You know you’re right
You know you’re right
You know you’re right
It’s so warm and calm inside
I no longer have to hide
There’s talk about someone else
Steaming, soon begins to melt
Nothin’ really bothers her
She just wants to love herself
I will move away from here
You won’t be afraid of fear
No thought was put into this
I always knew it’d come to this
Things have never been so swell
And I have never failed to fail
Pain
Pain
Pain
Pain
Pain
You know you’re right”
You Know You’re Right by Nirvana
“Have you every felt like life’s just a hazard?
Made up of tricks and dupe, for all the suckers out there
It’s gonna get us all at one time, indefinitely
Watch out, there’s no escape.
Have you ever felt like love’s just like concrete
Poured out and left to harden, to be walked all over
Sometimes you can leave your handprints in love
Watch out, don’t get stuck
Oh, this dubious life.
It’s laid out in front of us.
When you didn’t expect it, fireworks went off with a mass sound
When you think the worst is to come it unexpectedly turns around
When you didn’t expect it, fire circles around you
When you think it’s closing in, it unexpectedly turns around.
Have you ever felt like your world is riot-proof
You’ve got barricades and walls as high and mountains
You’ve blocked yourself off from the fools out there
Watch out, don’t get stuck
Oh, this dubious life.
It’s laid out in front of us.
When you didn’t expect it, fireworks went off with a mass sound
When you think the worst is to come it unexpectedly turns around
When you didn’t expect it, fire circles around you
When you think it’s closing in, it unexpectedly turns around.”
Hazard by Gossling
“Last night, the dream starts with a group of teen-hood children climbing onto a monumental double-decker bus, heading off across the city for a field trip or to school or some unknown – it is not clear. I don’t recognize anyone; I rarely do in my dreams. Usually they each consist of a whole fresh set of faces, of people I have never seen before.
I know what is going to happen the moment I am in the top deck, the bright fluorescent lights, the crowded, suffocating atmosphere. A vision takes me, a violent wind whipping my hair loose, the top of the bus gone with seats torn off and people struggling to hold on, maimed bodies, empty chairs, screaming, and the sound of twisting, wrenching metal sparking against concrete, and it is dark above my head with flashing red and orange lights, caught and flying within a tunnel.
I descend into the bottom where the space is more open to move around, where monitors and chaperones and teachers roam and talk to students. The bus is taking off, and I cannot see where we are going, the scenery flying by outside the windows as if we are in a bullet train, on the Metro in DC in the outer limits of the district, the green country.
I know what is going to happen, and I cannot stop it. I don’t bother to tell anyone. All I try to do is prepare for impact, find some place where the damage will be minimal. I try to herd as many people into these safe spaces as possible without alerting to the coming catastrophe. I know someone is responsible for this coming disaster, multiple evils lurking in the bus, and I cannot see their faces, but I know there forms, adult and children alike, ready to feast and tear and ruin.
It goes dark as the bus enters the tunnel. The breaking begins, a furious tossing and crushing, like stomping on an empty aluminum soda can. It is over immediately after it begins, and the bus is in pieces. There is light, but it is dimmed by the sunset. I am staring into the gaping mouth of the tunnel and the wreckage surrounding me. It is as if the tunnel swallowed us, masticated, fed and took what it wanted, and spat us out wasted. There is blood and gore all around, few survivors limping around trying to piece everything back together, and I feel wet and heavy standing before this monstrous hole. I feel responsible, like I should’ve known better, like I could have done something more.
Something darker sets in my belly; the red around me reflects the deep red within me, and it is a rush of relief, of revealing all the ugliness inside to the outside. No one knew but me. It was like the darkness chose me to see it, wanted me to experience all of it, played me, tested me. And, I want to both weep and laugh: laugh and be happy because the darkness wanted me, had considered me, but also weep because all of it was just so sad, so terrible, and I shouldn’t think such things.
Victims and survivors are hauled to the hospital, and I follow obediently, blindly, help cart them into ambulances, and ride in the back, watching these paramedics attempt to chase their souls back into their ruined and maimed flesh with medicine and oxygen and duct tape and glue. I watch these carts lined up in the ward, an emergency room I am familiar with where I spend each week rolling warm blankets and clean sheets up and down the walk ways, defined by the blue of my shirt and the tag at my waist, unseen as I restock shelves and wipe the blood stains off the plastic mattresses, erasing the evidence of pain from each room.
A body for every bed, and it surprises me, because I thought there should be so many more, but the ward still feels empty, until I realize not everyone survived that crash, and this is all that is left, a handful of bodies out of dozens of children, my peers thrown from the comfort, from their illusion of invulnerability.
The psych ward side of the emergency room is dim and deserted, though, some of those thick, heavy doors closed and locked with incandescence shining from a tiny sliver of a window. Behind the doors I know predators pace back and forth, howling intermittently, cursing and twitching like the possessed. How many times have I considered placing myself on the other side of that door? Sometimes I really believe it is where I belong.
The evils are around, escaping from the psych rooms, standing in the darkened doorway of the supply closet, leaning in the entryway to the lobby, or sitting at the foot of the beds of victims.
I don’t feel the need to run away. I don’t know where I would go. I don’t know the way home. I cannot protect any of them – the victims or the demons. I don’t even know if I want to. The screens show me when rooms go red, and I can feel all the air leave the room when they do, because I know what that might mean. Spaces go dark, lights flicker on and off, and I don’t feel trapped or free. It is like a personal purgatory built just for me. In a way, I feel at peace.”
HCS, April 20th, 2013
