She looked so damn nice

Hi I'm Jack, I write and play guitar and love things that are beautiful

I really hope that a meaningless array of events occurs to allow this clump of atoms to still be aware of itself

After I got back from the hospital I was just constantly afraid and feeling terrible and just not being better in general, but now, seeing that a person, even one that’s so many miles away, can at the very least hold me above a deep pit with a fork going down, where one leads to death and the other one is endless, I really feel what I thought before was true:

No matter where I am or how I live it’ll all be okay if I have someone to come home to.  Whatever that means.

It’s not anymore that I go from not wanting to die at all to wanting to want to, then back to feeling like it might be worth it to see what happens next, it’s going from wanting to want to die, to wishing I had a more readily available, way, to thinking that maybe in the future there’d be a time that I really want to see what happens next.  The people(person) I’m close with are(is) not physically close in any sense, and everyone else is figuratively far enough away that I, after not even two months into school, find myself wandering the halls alone.

And maybe it’s a good thing it feels like my brain is slowly falling apart, where I can’t remember things I would normally remember vividly, which is horrible in one sense, and would be good in another except that doesn’t make any sense.  

Either way, I probably shouldn’t be saying this shit to tumblr for reasons ranging from its annoying qualities to its potential to cause pity.  

Fuck me

I need Niki to bring my notebook so I can start writing again

I have to hold my jaw open so I know if I’ve been grinding my teeth, and it hurts and it’s hard to ignore, but I like the way skin feels when I’m nervous, and that makes me less nervous, so then I don’t have to keep my hands running across my chest, except when I do have to because I’m a bit more than nervous, when I dig my fingernails into my shoulder and pace around, while I involuntarily, clench my jaw as tightly as I can and hope that I don’t have to call people that I shouldn’t be bothering, and hope that if it does come to that, that they will find it in their grace to take their hands off themselves and pull their teeth apart for me

Yeah, Jack, why don’t you just send texts to people that you know don’t really want to talk to youand then surfuckingprisingly feel shitty after the fact that they don’t give a shit is right in front of you, just like you knew it would then go back and play sad music and talk to yourself until your head starts replaying scenes of all the different ways you could die at that moment, then go to sleep, then go to school pretending you’re happy to be anywhere

Tomorrow will be the death of me 

I like, meaning that I don’t like, how what would be a simply eventless day for someone else is, for me, the plague, hell, and watching someone’s leg snap.

Hospital Art

I’m really scared because I know it’s hard for me to handle not having things to do and next month and then the month after are going to be monotony-filled gashes in my well being relative to time, and in thinking about that I also came to realize that the idea of staying with someone so I can keep my brain matter from spilling out of holes that weren’t originally supposed to be there is still just as unreasonable as before, even with the new friends I’ve supposedly made and the people I’ve gotten sort of barely closer with.  I guess I just have to take it one day at a time and keep feeding myself generalized nonsense, because it gets worse before it gets better ya know, even though that’s the equivalent of physically ingesting those phrases written in charcoal on magazine print, even though those upcoming days of stagnant air seem to already have arrived, and not because I fucked up, but because I’ve been hearing the phrase, “dude, I’m super busy” more than I would care to

inexplicably relieved that I am so tired I fail to notice just how much I would normally be struggling

Home finally.  Brought back a headache and a silk shirt, covered in all the loss I knew I would spill all over it.  Too bad the train track was intact.

It’s crazy because I have this train ticket for tomorrow and tomorrow is what this whole week has been moving toward and why I will inevitably decide that this week was a good week, even though there were more days and hours of boredom and visions than there was not worrying about if I ever would get this piece of paper with a QR code on it.  

Hospital art

Woodburning

Notes from the hospital #17
The last one.