Heavy As Fuck

There are days my mind feels like a sticky, humid swamp; Just…stagnant, filled with Lord knows what. And even though its contents are unclear, it’s heavy as fuck. It feels like a lot’s there. Lots of mud and muck.

There are days I’m not sure what to think, what kind of opinions to have.

There are days that everything is crystal clear and every breath feels like a breeze of fresh air on a warm summer day.

There are days I feel myself adapting against my will, others I stand my ground so hard I could make the earth quake beneath my feet.

And does it mean a thing? Does it all mean a damn thing?

Because we’re all gonna die and turn to dust and explode in the heat of the Sun while the planets, which we name after the gods and goddess of antiquity, silently observe our fate. Because they’re also kind of nothing but beautiful. But when we’re all dead and gone all our sense of aesthetic will be gone so what is anything? And if it means nothing, then so what? And if no one’s watching does it exist?

And even if you could pinpoint my location from this universe to this galaxy to this planet Earth, to the North American continent, to the United States, to my northeast New Jersey bedroom sitting up tired, would my presence here in this exact moment mean anything to anyone? Should it not bother us as human beings to not feel necessary. Nevermind wanting and loved, but necessary? Because what if you grow old and no one cares?

But I suppose no matter what happens, I believe in the Tao and dharma and just going with it and saying yes to life. And I think I’ve become really good at that and if not, then better than last year. But I don’t feel aligned like what I’m riding a wave. My passion and excitement comes in bursts but keeps shorting out. So how can I keep that going? Sometimes my center disappears into the swamp and instead of digging through it and driving myself insane, I choose to just lay down and wait for its light to poke out from the murky darkness.

On my lawn chair with a lollipop in my mouth, eyes closed.

Waiting for a sign as I open one.

A wink with a fermata over the top.

20something profile: Roe

Hey guys!
’20somethings In 2014′ was kind enough to reach out to me and inquire about my career interests and post-grad life.
Check out what I had to say >>>

20somethings Blog

Roe_PicThis post was written by Roe, a musician and songwriter:

Hi, I’m Roe. I’m an unemployed 24-year-old “adult” who unashamedly lives with my parents. I also take care of my grandmother who has a plethora of chronic ailments, while simultaneously striving to set a good example for my younger brother who’s still in high school. I’m also a songwriter.

I graduated Ramapo College of New Jersey in May of 2013 with a degree in Music, concentrating in Music Industry and Music Production and minoring in Information Systems — you know, for good measure.

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A Regrettable Vent: Typical Diary of an American 21st Century 20-something

I’m spiraling to nowhere.

Everything I get involved in seems like a half-assed attempt at trying to achieve something that never really goes anywhere.

My horoscope has been cryptic as fuck or just super vague, and I’m starting to realize maybe I’ve grown too dependent on it. I’ve grown too dependent on a lot of things.

I feel like everywhere I turn vines jump out and tie me down. Some of them come out of myself, others come from the outside.

I don’t know what I’m interested anymore. Don’t know what I want, what’s best. No one fucking understands what’s happening to me, what I’m going through. I’ve heard the same shit over and over. But it’s different from what you went through. Drowning you out and I don’t care anymore. Watching your hand gestures from my peripheral and I could care less. I feel like I need to move away and I don’t care how I get there. The world’s a different place now. And if you’re not Business, you’re not wanted. You’re voided out. To be trapped within your own mind is one of the worst things. It doesn’t physically hurt but just feels so damn suffocating and paralyzing. How can I possibly move?

Was I trying to take some easy way out? Is that why I’m in such a tortuous state? And I just too scared or something? Make a move! But where?

I’ve used all my lifelines, I’ve tried to be positive, but there are just some nights you want to cry yourself to sleep and realize you can’t because you’re too damn angry at everything and anxious about the future and that keeps you awake for hours.

Drinking gives a false, elevated sense of self and is never worth the repercussions. I feel like I can’t breathe. I feel awkward and unwanted and lost.

I have nothing to talk about anymore and it’s fucking killing me. I can write all I want and it gets me nowhere. I don’t fit the format, don’t fit the clothes, the schematic. I’m something other than what the blueprint suggested. There are changing landscapes now. I don’t know what to do with myself anymore.

I am 23 years old, full of energetic promise and potential. Where did I go wrong? I feel tapped out, gipped out of something I thought I earned. No one takes chances anymore and I guess that means me too. What am I doing here? Does this end, because it feels like forever.

The things I thought to be honest and true are all flaking paint, including myself.

Our world naturally and idealistically is slowly morphing into wasteland and hell and my emotions are going along with it.

Everything revolves around money I don’t have, don’t want, yet weakly need. It seems so wrong. Everything seems so wrong. Everything seems to be so desperately wrong.

Cue Sound The Alarm. It’s really the only record I can listen to when I get like this anyway. That and Between The Concrete & Clouds seems to be really hitting the spot right now.