cryingofallsorts
I will put forth a hypothesis...
There are two types of crying.
Conor Oberst crying... which is whiney, emo-child crying that... is just there because one needs a good cry every so often.
And Morrissey crying. Which is real crying.
I am not actually crying right now, because certain events have killed my display of emotions so much that I can never squeeze out more than a drop or two...
Even if all that was dear to me were to disappear.
But my inner-child... that part of me that still actually has life... actually swims around dejectedly, controlling my subconscious when my hard, torn self and all the mirror images of my life I live... all the debaucherous figures I pretend to be and live the lives of sit so unabashed on the surface...
It has moved on during the course of the day from Conor to Morrissey.
"So what you are saying is that you're a horrible person, but at least you can admit it?"
"No. I'm saying that I'm a good person, but I refuse to live it."
"Why not?"
"It tends to hurt, and bring up old bullshit."
"It does. But if you are in one of those emo type moods, it is probably best to not dig up old wounds."
"Probably. And since I'm almost always in an emo mood, I never live my own life."
I wonder when this absurd fairy tale will end.
I want some Fela Kuti.