Things That Go With Happy Hardcore Music

Happy hardcore is a terrible genre of music. However, it is no longer horrible when you combine it with certain other things that are horrible. This is weird because it happens in other places, such as when you combine pictures of cats with jokes in bad grammar, or when you floss really hard while having angry thoughts about your grandmother, or when you have a sex dream about Justin Bieber right after your divorce, and you are both dolphins, like the kind of making out that would happen in his video right when he decides to start being sexy for real but he can't get all Cry Me a River yet because his fanbase's moms will get angry, and secretly turned on, and that will make them more angry, but he doesn't have adult fans yet like Skrillex and Maroon 5.  



I saw a movie tonight 
about a boy lost at sea 
for 30 days, 60 days, 
something monstrous. 

He shared his raft 
with a Bengali tiger,
an animal that wanted 

to kill and eat him. 


I'm So Fucked

My ex came over last night. He comes over about once a week, or I go to his place, for the sake of visitation with our kid, and then I spend the rest of the week trying to refrain from binge drinking, flirting like a 30-year-old whose body WANTS ANOTHER FUCKING BABY, or going on some kind of shame spiral that involves stuffed-crust pizza and freaking out on Twitter.


The Etymology of Cordial, and Being of the Heart

I told someone off this weekend. He is a good guy, and a friend (well, was a friend), and I told him off, and now I feel terrible. I don't think I've ever told anyone off, in my life, without feeling really bad about it afterwards.

This is, weirdly, with exception to the people I am in serious relationships with. 

There is an idea that honesty in relationships breeds intimacy, and people use this idea to be really mean to each other.

I have said things to my exes that I would never say to a family member, coworker, friend, bus driver, child, or animal.

I remember my first relationship being especially insane. We lived on the second floor of a 1940s' mill house next to a dilapidated old mill. I was always throwing his stuff out the window. Or he was throwing my stuff out the window.

We lived across from a family of kids who would scout the yard for cigarette butts, until the girl got pregnant, and moved away, she was maybe 14, and liked to wear a red flannel shirt that I stilil remember.

Her brother was maybe 9, and very fat, and hung out with gang members who scared me a little.

They had a really hungry pitt bull on a leash on the porch, and I was also scared of this pitt bull.

That boyfriend, the guy I spent my teenage years with, he was prematurely jaded, and had become violent.