The sun goes down (20/03/1976 – 20/07/2017)

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Imagine.
Imagine I almost cried when I read Chester Bennington’s note to Chris Cornell after his death. Imagine I write a tribute to Chris Cornell on his birthday. And on that same goddamn day, Chester Bennington is found dead.
Chester fucking Bennington.
Honestly, I’m distraught. I wrote in the last post that Chris Cornell’s death was the only one to affect me. Well, girls and boys, make that one of TWO deaths to affect me.
Let me tell you that Linkin Park were a big part of my entire child/teenhood. My entire. Teenhood.
God.
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No one sings like you anymore (20/07/1964 – 18/05/2017)

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Truth be told, no famous persons death has affected me.
When I was younger, I thought I cared that Michael Jackson died, but looking back on it, I really didn’t. It was just a shock that someone so familiar, so universally famous and loved had died.
After that, it was weird to me. Being upset at a famous persons death was weird to me; they’re a normal person. I wouldn’t be so affected if another normal person died. I wondered how people cried, screamed, ripped their hair out and locked themselves away when a famous person died. It was so weird.
Whitney Houston died, and I didn’t care about her.
David Bowie died, and despite being a huge fan of his, I was shocked but I didn’t care.
Prince died, and, whilst I was a fan of his music, he was kind of an asshole, so I was shocked but I didn’t care.
George Michael died and I was admittedly a little upset because Wham was played pretty often in my household and at family get-togethers…that and because after his death emerged stories of all his charitable work. I still didn’t care.
I have just never cared.
On May 18th 2017, however, Chris Cornell died.
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TW: Rape and alcohol

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Moving on from the last post, and my argument begins.
I’ve discussed the situation in which a man must take blame one hundred percent in every single aspect, the sober coward that attacks a woman just because he’s a dirty piece of shit. But many girls are at a party, getting so drunk they can’t see what’s in front of them, so they say yes to anything.
Alcohol is the main perpetrator in rape cases; the victim can’t remember anything, the jury decides that she was too intoxicated to give consent and the rapist, with the same blood alcohol content, is imprisoned.  Like this, the Stanford victim said she couldn’t remember a thing because she drank too much [her own mistake], and the rapist said they kissed and danced, which they probably did, and she gave the impression that she liked it. Ultimately, she cannot remember giving him consent – she may have done, she just can’t remember it. She obviously wasn’t sober enough to fight him off, like her sister had done, as she couldn’t handle her liquor. So, I’m not talking about the drunk women who are dragged away and forcibly raped. This is about the ones who are too drunk to ‘give proper consent’. Do you still not see the problem?
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Each days a gift and not a given right

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Death is a curious thing.
We constantly chant that life is too short, yet we act as if we are immortal. We have hearts full of things  unsaid, yet we wait until our time is up to confess. We wait until it is too late. Why must you spend your life as though there are no consequences for what you do, and in your final hours you weep to the people you didn’t spend enough time with and you beg and plead God to forgive you and give you another day to repent? Why must you follow your head, telling you to do the ‘right’ thing until you are dead, letting your heart suffer so terribly that it kills you and those around you? Did you always believe you were guaranteed a tomorrow? Was your faith so weak your entire life – did you not truly believe?  Or did you simply think you would never die?

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Who says I can't get stoned, plan a trip to Japan alone?

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“Some people are old at 18 and some are young at 90. Time is a concept that humans created.”
I think I’m way too old for my age, but I guess at least that means I’m less likely to have a mid-life crisis. The scariest thing to me, though, is knowing that when I’m 80 years old, if I live to be that old, my mind won’t be altered much. Being my current self trapped in a frail, weak old body is a terrifying inevitable truth that I have to prepare for. Being unable to go to the places I want and do the things I want to do all whilst knowing that death is creeping closer and closer to me. NOPE.

Now playing: Who Says – John Mayer