I know this is nothing new, but categorization (though, at one end I’m obsessed with) is not, atleast for me, a way to make sense of the world in certain capacities.
That being said, this whole thing… this ghey-ass blaaaaahhhhggg is categorically in it’s uncategorical sense….
…really, if one thinks about it, a blog about self-destruction.
I want it to lay there. Because before I can justify or rationalize… I’d like for it to be one word… well, one hyphenated word anyway.
(a) its not an instructional on how to self-destruct
(b) it does not delve into synthetic psychiatric terms like self-destruct
(c) it does try to understand… but in terms that won’t trap (as in self-destruct)
But, in so saying, they are all stories, these are all stories (true or not)… each blog entry or whatever you’d like to deem it, is a story.
…a story that, in the end, carries the weight of the term “self-destruction”.
Rings around the Rosey of self-destruction.
So, when I read this…it’s like… I don’t know (because it’s not just another anorexic pseudo-model media personality dying)
I say this only because I saw an episode of something or another where it really made it seem like she was ‘over it’… trying not to die. Being the anti-anorexia, if you will. The poster-bitch. Like a thousand years ago, I saw it.
And maybe she was.
But what am I to make of this?
A thousand years after, she dies anyway.
What does that even mean?