Feeling:
Listening to: Killing In The Name by Rage Against The Machine

On Thursday, I went on a two-hour train ride to visit Tilburg for no other reason than to see Trivium, As I Lay Dying and Caliban live (I somehow accidentally missed Upon A Burning Body. I don't understand either...). I went to Tilburg, saw some awesome bands play - and left. With a little bit of getting lost and creepily following some guys wearing Trivium t-shirts around like they were breadcrumbs (Get it? 'Cause I was lost... The guys were the breadcrumbs... Like in Hansel and Gretel...) in between.

I am proud to say I ripped the hell out of my tights and headbanged harder than I have ever headbanged (I am also proud to say my neck is still sore). It is fucking amazing to not care about the people around you and just lose control of your body as you let it do whatever the hell it does when it enjoys music.

Actually, the whole idea behind concerts is kind of amazing: A great mass of people from various and random walks of life coming together for just one night because they share one common interest. You make your way there from all over the place, press up against each other covered in sweat and God-knows-what for a few good hours, cheer and fist-pump as one united, breathing organism, and then just as suddenly as you came together, disperse in a reluctant attempt to return to the life you left behind for a singular night.

And that's why I don't mind going alone - 'cause when you let yourself become a part of that giant mob of people, alone is something you never really are. But even if that is the case, it doesn't matter; in those few fleeting moments, you just don't care.

And that's a nice feeling. :]

Feeling: Lazy

The most thought-provoking thing I have read today (from here):

I think the concept of virginity was created by men who thought their penises were so important it changes who a woman is.

It's interesting because when I was growing up, I was constantly trying to rationalise the idea that everything that makes a person good and wholesome and precious can somehow be taken away from them in a few easy steps.

I don't know if men "value" virginity in the same way women do, so I don't know if it has anything to do with sexism. But it does follow a strange logic I cannot understand. Yet, perhaps in a wonderful example of how stagnant this society and its values are, it is still a widely and devoutly believed-in theory where I come from.

And then, there is The Color Purple by Alice Walker that brings forth the idea that the mere physical act isn't what changes a girl into a woman; it's the moment you have your first orgasm that matters most. The difference is that nothing sacred in you dies; something brand new and exciting awakens.

I think I like that version better.

"Life is a marathon, not a sprint. But it is a sort of marathon that you really have to sprint. And there are hurdles and weights to lift. And swimming. And shooting. Life is basically the Olympics. But at the end you don’t get a medal, you die." - David O'Doherty

Feeling: Dazed
Listening to: Okay I Believe You, But My Tommy Gun Don't by Brand New

I have this strange and difficult-to-shake habit of willing real life to be a piece of fiction, usually a romantic movie or a sad book.

It seems I'm constantly on the look out for the best characters to fall pray to an inhumane plot with a heart-breaking ending.

(What good is a story if it isn't a good one?)

But I don't know, man. Real life is pretty messed up, and thinking of it with a bit more structure - a bit more method in the fucking madness - makes me feel better, especially when I'm horrible.

(It's for the sake of a good story, you see.)

We're concentrating on falling apart. We were contenders. We're throwing the fight. But I just wanna believe, I just wanna believe, I just wanna believe in us.