It’s 5 a.m. and I can’t sleep any more. I’m depressed, as usual. I was up thinking about a Yamaha RBX170 bass that I’ll probably be buying soon because it turns out I’m as materialistic as everyone else and I just have to have it, even though I already have a much better bass. To be fair, I’m worried about ruining my really good bass now that I’m part of a new band and I have to travel around with it a lot, and it’s an alternative rock band that won’t require the hardware of my good bass. There was a reasoning being wanting this new bass, not just because I want things. However, I still feel depressed that I can actually lose sleep thinking about something that I badly want to own.
So the title of this blog is mono no aware, which is actually Japanese even though it looks like three unrelated English words strung together. “Aware” is ah-wah-reh in this case, not aware, as in, “I’m aware of you staring at my breasts.” Which is totally fine, because breasts are fun and I enjoy the attention most of the time. Anyway, mono no aware is a state of sadness at the transience or impermanence of things, and it’s the story of my life. Last night I had a dream again about high school, even though that was quite a while ago. I won’t say how long. I’m embarrassed at my age. But then again, with youthfulness so valued in our culture I was ashamed the day I turned 17 that I was no longer 16. That’s messed up, but that’s our culture. How I miss the days of sweet 16.
I also miss coffee. I drink so much coffee, it’s probably unhealthy. But once you’re already considered old by youthful standards, i.e., old enough to buy cigarettes and beer, then who cares? I think I might romanticize the idea of dying young. Not so much because I want to die because I generally don’t even when things get really dreadful, but because it would be nice to never have to fade away.
I just wish I could be glamorous and young, with cute clothes, a cute face, and a nice body, an eternal little fair-skinned and full-haired lolita doll. And then fuck until I get my fill, which may be never. Sensuality is a validation of my existence, and a sensual existence in the only one worth having. So I’m both materialistic and decadent and self-indulgent, a regular spoiled libertine bitch.
This might be an interesting blog some day…
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