<body><script type="text/javascript"> function setAttributeOnload(object, attribute, val) { if(window.addEventListener) { window.addEventListener('load', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }, false); } else { window.attachEvent('onload', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }); } } </script> <div id="navbar-iframe-container"></div> <script type="text/javascript" src="https://apis.google.com/js/platform.js"></script> <script type="text/javascript"> gapi.load("gapi.iframes:gapi.iframes.style.bubble", function() { if (gapi.iframes && gapi.iframes.getContext) { gapi.iframes.getContext().openChild({ url: 'https://www.blogger.com/navbar.g?targetBlogID\x3d33206271\x26blogName\x3dThe+Fine+Art+of+Falling+Apart\x26publishMode\x3dPUBLISH_MODE_BLOGSPOT\x26navbarType\x3dTAN\x26layoutType\x3dCLASSIC\x26searchRoot\x3dhttps://fineartoffallingapart.blogspot.com/search\x26blogLocale\x3den_US\x26v\x3d2\x26homepageUrl\x3dhttp://fineartoffallingapart.blogspot.com/\x26vt\x3d6081200608643811586', where: document.getElementById("navbar-iframe-container"), id: "navbar-iframe" }); } }); </script>

About

This is what it could look like when one completely deconstructs a life as one knows it, and how to build from the ground up. Alternatively, this is a fresh look at an old story. The fine art of falling apart.

Recent

I'm Gish. I guess this is what one can call the remnants of a pre-mid-life crisis. I listen to too much music and read too many books, and it all means nothing. Abrasive, I smoke too much, drink too much coffee and hardly sleep. Alive. Be sure to check out the new links to blogs, photos, music and other sorts of good stuff at the very bottom of the page.

Archives

Tired in my bones


echoes of myself {7/365)
Originally uploaded by
Abstract Magdalene.

Shot taken at the butterfly conservatory today, and used as one of my 365 photos. None of them will earn awards, I always just pick the ones that mean something to me.

Look at that photo, it's how I feel. I send out S.O.S's but they are never answered. My connections are faulty, only I can be to blame. Because there should always be a way to be there for me.

Speaking of which, another friend grating on my nerves, self rightousness that makes me skin raw when I try to open my mouth to defend myself, then I remember there is no defense.

And I'm so cranky because I can't figure out how to sync my iPod with the music I want, and not what it feels like uploading on a lark. We are at am impasse. But you know me, I'm not exactly a brainiac when it comes to figuring out new toys. But it pisses me off.

Ok, I'm going to go spread my bile somewhere else. I'm alone. alone, alone, alone, alone, alone, alone, alone,alone,alone,alone,alone,alone,alone,alone,alone,alone,alone,alone,alone,alone,alone,alone,alone,alone,alone,alone,alone,alone,alone,alone,alone,alone,alone,

You can leave your response or bookmark this post to del.icio.us by using the links below.
Comment | Bookmark | Go to end