"All you care about is singing your heart out and knowing it’s okay to love something maybe a little too much as long as it’s real to you."
I'm Sammi. I don't have very many shades of enthusiasm; I love or I'm not bothered. I don't have time for elitism. I have a rather severe Peter Pan complex.
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"Boy, this is sort of an awkward moment here. I uh... uh... I'm gonna be honest; I have to pee."
Hm.
Why is it, that when I go and see a band, I fucking hate the song they end with. Then a couple of days later I’m sat with my iPod all ‘Should I? Shouldn’t I?’ And then I play it and I’m all ‘Are you fucking kidding me this song is fucking beautiful!’ (Cue happy tears), then comes the realisation that they played it, and when I was there I was sulking through the whole song yet now I’m like ‘Band! Y U NO PLAY IT TO ME RIGHT NOW? I don’t care if you’re the other side of the world, I want to hear it!’ So then starts the self-destructive search on YouTube for live performances of the song and then comes the mini mental breakdown that accompanies the realisation that by the time they come back to the UK there’ll be a new album and consequently a new ending song.
*breathes*
Ultimate laziness.
Apple remote, speaker dock, Front Row.
MacBook Pro, you’re beautiful.
My sketchbook vs. the sketchbooks of people who can actually draw:
Mine contains increasingly creative methods of paper folding with the ultimate intent to hide the unfortunately common fuck up.
All I want is a book.
Not just any book.
A book that makes me care.
I am sick to death of picking up a book and reading it and knowing that it’s made me feel exactly nothing. Maybe I’ve lost the ability to feel, which would be mighty disturbing, but recently every book I’ve read is just that; another book I’ve read. Another to add to an increasingly fast-growing list of books that didn’t make the earth move more than it was going to anyway.
As much as it sounds self-destructive, I want to cry when I read a book. I want to laugh, cry, and more than anything I want to care about the characters I’m reading about. Is that too much to ask?
There seems to be an inordinate amount of authors in this increasingly over-saturated industry that, yeah - fine, can write a sentence of coherent English and make it sound great, but are all missing something. Maybe it’s character development, maybe it’s a lack of relatability, I don’t know; but something is definitely missing.
It’s like music; there’s so much of it now, but how much of it actually makes you feel anything? It’s one of those things where if you find something that speaks to you, you have to grab onto it with both hands and a vice grip and never let it go because God only knows when you’re going to find something else that makes you feel the same way.
R.I.P, dear faith in literature. You did me well, but I fear there is no hope.
<termination>Rant</termination>
ATTN:
Vote for The Kut if you have two free seconds, live in the UK and want a completely FREE download of their track. It’d mean the world to my boss!
NIGHTNIGHT by DEDDY
