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why can’t you want me the way i want you to? / why can’t you want me when i want you to? / do you know how fucking lucky you are to get inside of me? / you’re such an ungrateful piece of shit / please fuck me and be gone / i don’t need you / i never needed you / and i never will / fuck you for not fucking me enough / all i wanted was your body and you can’t even give me that / you’re such a selfish, lazy motherfucker / i told myself i can’t be like this / he wants me to be like this / he gets off on me being like this / they all do / it’s that power trip that gets them hard / don’t be like this / be soft / be soft / but it keeps coming / and i keep sinking / and is something so wrong with me that you’re not begging for it / is something so wrong with me that you’re not breaking for it / is something so wrong with me that unavailable is my type / why is it that desire is so hit or miss / am i not fuckable enough / am i not fictional enough / am i not heartless enough / guess i can’t win unless you fall apart / guess i can’t win until i have your heart dead in my hands / that’s the game, isn’t it / i said i can’t play because i will always lose / but i keep coming back / and it keeps coming / and i keep sinking / and i keep losing / i keep falling apart / my heart already dead in my mouth / my eyes already glossing over / guess it’s on to the next one / and the next one / and the next one / and the next one / cus every time i hold still / i eat myself alive / guess i’m as bad as they say i am / guess i still need another warm body / to forget how cold my heart is

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What you want to say:

So who are you going to be. The 45th guy I never see again? The 46th? The 67th? The 120th? The 7th guy from the past to come back and haunt me when there was never any future here? I’ve been trying to pin down my desires, but here you are, thinking you have me all figured out. You think I’m in love with you. You think I’ve only dated assholes. You think I set myself up for failure. You think a lot of things about me for someone who knows little to nothing, who cares little to nothing, about the full breadth of my humanity. I’m tired. That’s all. I’m tired because I’m told to put my faith in strangers I will never see again. Imagine having the same conversation for 4 years with different people and the same dead end. Isn’t that tiring? Isn’t that frustrating? Isn’t that disappointing? They tell me they can relate. But I’m not even talking about forever. It doesn’t even have to last. I can’t even get it to start. All these matches I’ve struck and not a single flame. I’m not talking about love. I’m talking about a seventh date and no regrets. I’m talking about a conversation that cartwheels and soars and never falls flat on its face. I’m talking about playing video games naked at 3am. I’m talking about laughing because you actually said something funny and it wasn’t going to be the last. I’m talking about fucking someone who gives a shit about me. When did giving a shit become equivalent to Love (TM)? When did respect become exclusive to your future spouse? Stop texting me if you don’t give a shit. Stop messaging me if you don’t give a shit. Stop trying to make plans if you don’t give a shit. Stop pretending you give a shit when you never planned on actually giving one because it’s reserved for the imaginary dream girl in your head or your mother or honestly probably just yourself. Stop acting like you give a shit just because you are lonely and horny and you have no options other than to hit up some bitter girl with the weirdly explicit blog. Fucking grow up and get your fucking shit together, and I’m not talking about your finances, I’m talking about the shit you buried, the shit that could make you ugly-cry in front of a therapist if they didn’t beat that out of you yet. You know the biggest fucking curse in my life is being sexually attracted to people I otherwise can’t stand.

What you actually say:

Okay sure, let’s meet up

 

 

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LEARKANA
Death by data entry, 2014
She will be missed (once your condolences have been processed and approved through the Department of Deceased Bureaucratic Relations via fax or email by close of business, no calls please)

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What’s the point of life? Well whose life do I mean? I’ve always gone by the self-made principle, because really, it’s you who makes your life what it is right, I mean arbitrary circumstances and oppressive systems aside, life is 99% attitude and 1% effort or sorry I forgot how the platitude goes, more like 50% attitude, 50% sweat blood tears, sweaty bloody tears, teary bloody sweat okay that isn’t right either but the point is, there is no point until you make a point which is rendered pointless when you think about it so the point being, don’t think about it? Let’s backtrack here. What is the point of my life? Everyday, every moment seems to trigger some existential crisis. The drive to work, the drive from work, windows cracked, singing off-key at the top of my lungs knowing I’m going to haphazardly park my car in the gutter until the next morning then it’s the drive to work, the drive from work, you know the rest, I’m lying in bed wondering where did I go wrong, or did I go so right that it’s all wrong, am I making any sense, stuck in another cliched mind-trap because no thought I own can ever truly be mine, nothing I say do or think is original, my life isn’t original, but is the point of my life to be original? Or is it to be good, am I good, am I a good person, I’m trying sometimes is that enough, I’m comparing myself to the worst is that enough, if I believed in hell I’d already know where I’m headed once I die, is this life not enough, do I need several lifetimes to prolong my faltering human potential and mediocrity?, no back to the purpose, the purpose, what was the point, what is the point, do I need someone to tell me, does it have to be a He cuz fuck that shit, I define this, my life, but when I’m doing such a shitty job of it can someone take the wheel, Jesus take the wheel?, no I need to fucking take the goddamn wheel and drive, driving again, driving to and from work, 9-5 all day errday, it’s the same thing over and over and yes I’m living but I’ve stopped feeling alive and I’m young and stupid but drugs and boys are not the solution, what is my solution, not this, this monotony, but I need this monotony to live even if I’m not really living, do I need fame, I said I didn’t but why the irrepressible urge to be known, to be admired, to be loved, it’s human, it’s only human, fame is just another medium, people don’t want to die alone, people want to die loved and remembered, can you be loved and remembered for driving to and from work all day errday stuck in the deep rut of monotony don’t answer that, I need to be fulfilled, I need to stop being this lazy fuck and go do something that will make me look back and say I was worth something, to people, to me, but mostly to people because I am defined by people and I’m told not to care what people think but that’s fucking bullshit everyone fucking cares about what everyone thinks why else do we talk about loneliness like it’s the worst thing in the world and love like it’s the best, the point of life is to care about what people think and make people love you and then you die, is that it, yes that’s it

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I don’t really get why so many people have this idea that their ultimate goal in life should be to find this one someone to be with, romantically/sexually speaking. I mean I kind of get it. People are lonely. Well face it, as singular beings with feelings, we all universally suffer from loneliness, but I think being in a (romantic/sexual) relationship is really just a superficial fix for it. It might mitigate the loneliness but now you are dependent on this person to relieve yourself of this loneliness you had to begin with, and I would argue that this person also worsens the loneliness you will experience whenever you two are separated or (heaven forbid) break up or whatever. The Coupledom Curse, alas! This person (and the person after this one, and the person after that one) is a drug you’re hooked on, basically. Look, maybe my experience of loneliness is different from everybody else’s, but to me it’s kind of this paradoxically uncomfortable yet comforting ache. I think you really have to come to terms with it on your own before getting into any kind of relationship.

It’s like heart insurance. You need to deal with your own shit, your own headspace, being on your own, and being alone, before you jump into a relationship and then find out the hard way what it’s like and find yourself flailing into some other relationship just to keep you afloat because you can’t bear the idea of confronting yourself and that unbearable loneliness which actually, is pretty bearable. Trust me, the aloneness, the singleness, is not that bad. (Then again, I’m an introvert, so perhaps it is the most extreme form of torture for those who fall a bit closer towards extroversion on the spectrum of social interaction.) I’m probably at that point where I am way too much in my headspace and aloneness, but I find that other people I know have the opposite problem. I would, as a completely unqualified nonprofessional, recommend a good hearty dose of singlehood. For the record, I don’t think this is a one time thing. For the purposes of self-care, methinks being alone needs to be a recurring practice. It’s not like you’re single for one period of time and then BAM, you’re completely ready to dive into a series of sporadic, semi-meaningful relationships and never surface from the turbulent waters of interpersonal intimacy because you are now heartbreakproof. I think some time on your own is necessary in between to remind yourself that you are your own person and to reflect on who you are, as you are, and not in relation to someone else.

You are your best friend. You are your best bet against life’s ups and downs. You are your source of happiness, fulfillment, and interest in life. You are a whole person, not another person’s half. So why not act like it? I think that true independence and strength comes from not needing people in your life, but wanting them all the same.

Or you can dismiss this as a “Ugh Learkana hates people” post. That’s a pretty fair conclusion to draw.

 

 

 

 

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I’m not affectionate, but I’m deeply caring. Deeply, neurotically, possessively caring. But it comes out in spurts and bursts, so I might come off as detached or distant. I’m kind of stuck in my head and need my own space, but you can count on me to be there for you when you absolutely need me.

And this is why I make for a decent sibling and a really good friend, but would be a really shitty girlfriend or mother