Emotionally Inarticulate

Some days come to us in shades of grey. As days go by there’s a feeling that people are constantly paranoid the more life progresses. Haphazardly excusing themselves and apologizing for the sake of what passes as decency and understanding, entirely afraid to have a feeling or opinion. I wish people would look up, speak up, open up.

The people we find in real life seem so locked out, imprisoned really. I find myself drawn to being apathetic, yet curious. That could be the issue: Maybe I don’t care, but I want to know. Does the intention lack the integrity, regardless of the end? It’s a weird question, but I digress.

Maybe the skills we’ve acquired are structured towards self preservation, rather than companionship. We struggle to open up to anyone, but we’ll reach out for directions if we’re lost. I can’t really articulate my emotion most of the time; I wasn’t taught that. It’s unhealthy, it’s risky. You can’t possibly trust it.

That’s what we’re told, we’re never told that being truly open brings freedom, and maybe that’s how we find a little light version of life.  I think people get tired of feeling so ragged from existence. Maybe we need some form of emotional hygiene, risk it all and get out of your weight courtesy. Sometimes we should scream without reason or any intelligible words. We can barely tell anyone anything genuine, so why not show them? Maybe it’s not so bad to live free instead of just being born free to just live in chains.

I can’t tell you how I feel, I wasn’t taught how. Maybe we should look a little deeper, take our time and find the words to teach ourselves. Maybe that’s how I feel, maybe I should care and maybe it’s okay.

Unfaithfully yours, Peanut…


This Side Up

I write to you in a cold storm. We’re born, we die and find time in between to live. How we live comes with weather and placement. We observe our placement and travel with the debris. It can lead to resentment or understanding. At points in this traveling cycle i tend to switch between these. But I understand the necessity.

it’s a duty, you’re bound to it. Whether by words of family or morality, it can be necessary. We do what we have to do because we are suited or needed, there’s no shame in efficiency and I  find that logic will prevail over the emotion of wanting ease. We bleed for rest, then strain ourselves. it’s all in line with the contradictory nature of humans. i kind of like it.

I don’t think I’d switch the bad side of humanity for perfection, it sounds too monotonous. It sounds a little twisted, but i think it makes us more interesting and gives us some appreciation. Our duty in life is to suffer, then make joy from that suffering.

In conclusion, suffer. Definitely. Do what you need to and suffer for it. Then do something with it.

Unfaithfully yours, Peanut…


Choice: the clear divide.  We all face it in our lives, wait a while and it’ll face you. While we are clasped to certain groups, be it bloodlines or history, I’ve come to realise as I grow older that family is just a word and our past is not our future. Where we fall is in stark contrast to where we may move from there. Where a connection breeds you into what feels like a limp, a remedy should be sought. Don’t writhe, don’t ache. Find it, cripple it, heal.

When glimpsing inward, we must assess. Whether it be shame or rage, the blanket emotions might overlap we must find a way to find clarity. Family may be a grand scheme to hold dear, but as your personal world progresses you must understand your emotional position is not determined by such trivial thing such as blood.You get to choose, to cut off and distance yourself. I’ve always tried to avoid boxing myself in, to define is to limit and you shouldn’t wade through disrepute and shame to deal with poison for something as clinical as blood or affinity. Eventually family is just a word and saving grace is just one goodbye away.

We are not our shitty decisions and mistaken affiliations. All we are is the unfounded potential of the time we have left. It is your privilege to gather that potential, so if a person is hindering it you may cut them off. It is human to want to aggrandize your situation and you should feel no shame for it. To dismiss a wound from your life is part of your healing process. You should be kind enough to yourself to allow yourself the small happiness you deserve.

Some connections, they leave you so very angry. Rage is not seeing red. It’s all black and devoid of light. Make no mistake, there’s no hope in ambition drenched in anger. You owe it yourself to add more colour to your well being and surround yourself with that very minimal piece of joy and hold no obligation to grasp with the more fatal connections. Find a peace of mind in your piece of mind.

In conclusion, don’t hold yourself loyal to a toxic shackle. Click in with the healthier option. Choose the privilege over the burden. Choose life, not loathe. I choose this hypocrisy.

Unfaithfully yours, Peanut…

No Signal

An authentic connection, the only true constant I’ve found in my life. Not to say I’ve been thrown to it unendingly, but rather the opposite of feeling devoid of feeling this very raw dynamic. A pursuant yearning of magnetism within the conversation, no I was not lucky in finding it in every crack and brittle second of my waking life. It remained constantly avoiding me until I found it multiple times, yet it still feels missing. A small chip in my idea of it making it all the more perfect, until I suddenly question whether I want something entirely different. Is it wrong to rebuke such a rare occasion and pivot to self sabotage? Undoubtedly so, but that doesn’t mean I am not eager to do so. Maybe none of us are good, just doing things because we’ve been told they’re good. I still don’t feel it: the good. Instead I think I feel in colours. Reds, blacks, blues and greys; sometimes forest green. It’s dull and outlandish. I tend to find people the same way. That’s why I value such rare connections, they implode and leak such wonderful pigments. I love them, or at least I think I do.

I think a lot of people do this. They value things so passionately that anything else would bore them, so viciously your love for it turns brown and bitter spilling into resentment. I’d enable it in my twisted collapse into what I think a struggle should entail. I implore you to find your disappointment in these paper people, these fallacies of people or things you mistake to be what you seek. You can’t know right until you’ve cast off what’s wrong. Maybe do what’s wrong, fall to your knees and surrender to it. There is no greater gift than a horrid experience. People may disagree and daydream about soft, petal  like fantasies, but I think it’s the tragedy that shapes you. To have a shallow, happy life is to be shapeless. Sketch yourself whole, I love you.

There’s nothing wrong with needing your desire. Sometimes we need it. Sometimes we need them. We miss them achingly. Sometimes we love to the point of melancholy obsession. I see nothing more than an opportunity. I love you deeply, that’s my desire.

In conclusion, sometimes you’ve got to take someone, or something, as they are rather than what you want them to be. The connection is real, you should gladly bleed for it. Greet it all with red in your teeth.

Unfaithfully Yours, Peanut…

The Cattle Ward

Fear. I’ve always found it so omnipresent in my waking life. Though it may not seem that way, I’m drenched in fear a lot of the time, more than I’d like to admit. So often that I’ve become numb to it. It’s become less of an alarm and more of just my status of being. I remain terrified, constantly trembling while no one sees it. It sounds like torture, but honestly, to me, it’s just normal. I think a lot of people are like that, just never really at peace. Ironically it’s with this that you find the bonds you most want to nurture. A gentle familiarity with each other.

We’ve all known fear, we’ve all faced fear and we’ve all stood to reasonably comfort or want to be comforted when scared. A vital part of fear is the element of vulnerability it brings about, this seems to be the hardest and most wonderful aspect of being afraid. It’s like a cry for freedom, but we can only want freedom once we’ve been caged. It’s a slow poison, determined to eat at us and force us into missed opportunities and glimpses at roads otherwise not taken.

I think it’s beautiful, so very beautiful. How our trenches, rather than our plateaus tend to define us. Us cowards, us fear loving mongrels. We truly aspire to be nothing short of obsessed with our sinking moments. Triumphs and accomplishments can ravish us, yet we’d fascinate ourselves delving through our regrets and pitfalls, molding our personalities as we go forth. Critical and melancholy, we really are a strange, desolate species. We must fear to feel, feel for one another, feel ourselves within one another, and feel them within us as our fear makes us feel more together than the segmented mess our isolation demands. That’s where we find our camaraderie, torn to ruin and holistically graceful.

In conclusion, be afraid. Call it fate, an avenue for the connections that will breed the beast from the brave, and learn to honour the cowards.

Unfaithfully yours, Peanut…


No, that’s not a typo. Put your pants back on. Masturdating is when you go out and do activities you’d usually do as couples, but without the couple part. Going to a movie or getting lunch by yourself are common examples. It’s amazing, because, let’s face it, people are annoying, expensive and come with maintenance. Learning to be alone and enjoy it gives you a certain satisfaction.

There’s something vaguely refreshing about not needing a mirror to know who you are. People are superficial when it comes to others, but so very inspecting and understanding when it comes to their own introspection; nobody stares at a stranger and wonders what their sense of humour is.

Empathy has become this rare commodity which makes you favour the caring when it comes to praise, but our sadistic nature allows us to take advantage and abuse this soft nature of these noteworthy people. It’s like offering them tea, but drinking it in front of them. It’s a harsh act and undeniably human as we’ve come to know in the world as we know it.

A sense of community has become a rare fallacy to most in most cities, with trust issues and blazed paths treating our mind to brittle wavers of our trust in one another. We’ve become detached, but do we need to connect? Maybe not. Maybe we’re all sad and we’re all struggling, but why should that be the thing we have in common?

Don’t allow people to use you as the crutch to realise their own way, it’s unjustified and lacks humanity. On a side note, it makes me quite sad to see how humanity has become so very unhuman; I find that irony makes me shudder something terrible. Everyone should leave each other alone; maybe we’re better off just vacating our own identity and falling into our real self.

Masturdating is a way to pleasure yourself. Get it? Do you really get it? It’s a bright experience to really figure out the arc you’d like for your own life. So in conclusion, people are more than tools and we are defined by more than what we do. So shouldn’t the person defining who you are be, well, you.

Unfaithfully Yours, Peanut

Salt mates

A soul mate, by definition, is supposedly the epitome of love; the strongest friendship and the pinnacle of any human connection. Sometimes that connection is met with fruitful means, such as an unlikely match or just doing something uncharacteristic. We know that it is fruitful, but some fruit can go sour. This obviously means nothing, even though people change.

I’d rather talk about the means to garnering this connection. It can be cordial, such as helping a stranger, or somewhat deceptive, such as stealing a partner from another. However with soul mates, people always seem to pour on attributes along the lines of shared interests and loving the same things. That’s lovely and very pretty, but also probably bullshit.

I urge you to notice the people you encounter and think of how many of them are actually this optimistic spirit brimming with affection like an orchard of sunshine. I don’t find it too frequently, considering how very human it is to not accept our circumstances, but rather stagnantly complain about it. Bear with me, but this may be a good thing.

We are what we love, but also what we hate. The little patches of black sweltering on our tongue every time it feels good to call a bad driver a cunt, it really does, that’s a part of you. It’s electrifying, but isn’t even better when someone agrees that person is also a cunt? It is okay to love to hate, I do it daily. From vanity to leggings to shortened words, I despise a myriad of these little facets of life.

Are we all rays of sunshine? No, but some of us cast light in the darker times of day; I’d venture to say most of us do. We as humans differ and it is very human to hate. Humanity is more than just bleeding hearts and earnest apologies. Sometimes humanity can be ugly. Sometimes humanity is curse words and rallying opposition. Sometimes it’s more fun to be ugly. It is through this brutal camaraderie we can find home, and we all need a place that feels as warm as home.

I know how very charming it seems to connect and think about finding someone who loves everything you smile at, your true brother in arms. Make no mistake, human connection is war. With all the emotional shrapnel that jerk at our chest to go with it. But why to be brothers in arms immediately? Why not be men at war first? It’s got a bit more meat to it.

I’ve been told these are called “salt mates”. I like it; they’re salty about the same thing. It’s quite fun to love to hate. It’s even more fun to love to hate together, there’s an eroding satisfaction about it. That’s why holding grudges is so easy. Follow your human coding and start finding love through hate. There’s no notion saying you can’t find both in the same person, people are funny that way.

So in conclusion, if you’re looking for a soul mate, search in your heart. If you’re looking for your salt mate, you’ve got a bunch more organs to search through.

Unfaithfully Yours, Peanut

Slow Beauty

There’s something very beautiful about the mediocrity of this night. The moon isn’t full, the clouds are scattered but not too much. It’s just normal. The stars aren’t shining notably bright, or anything of the sort. It’s all very ordinary, yet still quite elegant. There’s something vaguely comforting about that. That something can be beautiful purely for what it is and nothing more. There’s a symphony at its average.

I find this beauty in people, beyond all the filters and aesthetic profiling. It’s endearing and honest, there’s warmth about it. It’s subtle and I find it vastly wholesome. Where aesthetics and documentation run vast, it is seldom so pleasing to notice the natural way people have that just bring about your smoldering admiration. It’s still sadly overlooked by many, as it takes an appreciation to see the little puzzles that bring light from them.

This is all very romantic, but I feel it’s necessary to celebrate this more unconventional beauty. In the spirit of preference I’ve always found slow beauty fiercely more intriguing, therefore I pursue it frequently; with hopes of finding bedrooms eyes, rather than fake eyelashes. I think it lies in originality, much like most natural beauties.  I think, actually I know, it’s in all of us; a sunset in the pit of our own becoming.

It’s challenging and tiring to struggle through pitfalls and social shields to be who we really are: our best selves. It’s worth it though, and the struggle makes it taste better. Be like the moon, be gracious and not attention seeking. Just allow others to see your nimble light in their darkest spaces.

In conclusion, I believe slow beauty to be true beauty. It takes a while to understand the person and learn to appreciate it, but once you do it’s wonderful. It’s a long process, but it pays off. It’s slow like blood, but golden like a wedding band.

Unfaithfully Yours, Peanut

Skin Deep

You’ll notice how things decay as you live your life, whether it be seasonal or just understanding, We start to let things die and grow brittle as it falls away to make place for new life. It’s appropriate that this is how I’ve found people progress with one another.

We project the aspects of our shelled existence to one another in the hopes of raw connection, then lay tethered to the social convention as we learn to understand the layers of one another. As we progress we peel apart to different worlds of the person, never really completely informed of their inner geography. We hide the more distorted parts of ourselves from people, hoping to send out a more appealing net to linger within our acquaintance.

As we peel back and expose our circle to our more grotesque side of us, you wait for the grimace at your newly revealed parts you’ve shared. The thought from whether they may flee clings to you, as you wait to feel them embrace or dismiss you. People have come to expect perfection in these dour climates.There’s such doubt in our shameful corners of our selves that it’s hard to imagine similar legions on the hidden skins of others. We cannot tenderly prod through these hidden aspect and peer beneath the facade to see them as they truly are, while expecting a flawless sight. We no longer take them as they are, but rather as we want them to be within the restraints they’ve given us to work in.

Our crude selves. Their crude selves. Is there really a home for it, each with it’s violently unfiltered place in this world? Our hideous mess to show to each other, asking them to irrationally not hate what we hate. That’s the basis of it all, to caress and not grimace. We wait for them to stay and call it our comfort. To say the more you see, the less you may think of me. Humbled and unguarded, please stay. Such is our cry in the pain of relation. We live for it. Thankful to feel anything at all.

In conclusion, layer upon layer, less and less. Cracked and flawed, I am me. Beneath it all, in our base form we’re all hideous. An ugly guise for an ugly mess, but some people find messes comfortable and so should you. Find joy in your honesty and comfort in the dents of one another.

Unfaithfully yours, Peanut…

At Your Tombstone…

Nobody really knew this, but you were the reason I got interested in the possibility of starting a blog. It’s been interesting. I kind of wish you could see it. August is getting nearer, and the weeks are getting harder.

Things seemed to have surrounded me. It’s just reversion and it’s slow; slow and enduring. The world feels grey, and I’m lost in it. I can’t differentiate from the places I find myself in, all I know is it just feels out of place and misunderstood wherever I go. That bothers me, because my progress felt so content after those heavy years of abandonment and isolation. I don’t know what this is for, why am I even typing this?

I think the truth is I miss you; or rather I miss your understanding, or just feeling understood. While some people say I’m too nice or too much of a prick, you were the one that made me feel just right. You sort of got that awkward disposition. It’s just a concoction of the brittle world I’ve found myself in; it all feels so raw. There’s no light left and it’s gotten too dark to see anything. Hopeless and remorseful, will I ever be content? This is very unfocused, but this is desperation. I miss you, it hurts and I thought I’d be used to it by now. I think of your tombstone and I wish I could live in our conversation. It all felt so warm, I miss that understanding: that mutual wavelength.

Now things feel desolate again, I can feel the distance. As food loses its taste and I somehow forget the sound of your voice, I remember you fondly, but think of you with a chest of heavy glass. I currently feel such bitter hatred to people; everything feels rotted and decayed like an old poison that won’t let go. It’s this mass of animosity I feel, I’m not sure with who, it feels like everyone and no one at the same time. Isolated and cold, it’s all so misguided.

In conclusion, I wish you here, I wish you near, I wish you were anywhere but gone.

Unfaithfully Yours, Peanut…

Parenthell + Vice

A broken man. These are the words I would use to describe my uncle. His son has recently died, and when I saw him in July it just seemed as though all his threads had come loose and the colour had dulled from his life. The loss of a child had bled the family dry and still demanded they be brave enough to go out. I’ll never forgot that day, nor the emptiness of his eyes. A brittle version of a man previously brimming with joy and life, he was left monotone.

After that day I had dwelled on the concept of loss and how it may contrast. It seeps and refuses your ignorance. You feel in the back of your mind like an unyielding itch that won’t leave. It now holds a special place in every thought I pursue. Have you ever felt loss? You should be so lucky.

I say this fully understanding the devastation and impact it may have on your life, not apathetically so. I get it, but the contrast is far more important. It does not seem understandable to only have joy, you need loss to appreciate the moment. The day would not seem so bright without the blackness of the night. Be lucky, lose it all. Only those who have lost can grow to gain, because it is only them who appreciate. The lucky ones, there is honour in the struggle.

As we lose the ones closest to us, a piece of us goes with them as they fall from our life until there’s nothing left of us for anyone else to love. It is only with this that we understand that a lost one is truly free in their moments of happiness. I’ve grown to appreciate that. In conclusion, so should you. Be lucky, lose it all.

Unfaithfully Yours, Peanut…

I am Spite

Spite: the black sheep of motivation. I’ve heard people say feeding it can just burn you, but I think it’s effective. It’s a good reason to live: to prove people wrong. Spite is my saving grace. Spite is genuinely the main reason I wake up, because people no longer expect me to.

You see it as black and fickle, but it works, so who really cares about honour? Dignity and integrity seem kind of heavenly, but heaven’s boring anyway. Why do you think sarcasm makes us smile, because deep down we’re all a little fucked up. I like to think with spite on our side, you could be the nicest asshole I’ll ever meet.

Spite is good, despite the words of your elders; they’re outdated anyway. Think of this ravenous plead, what this cold nature of your dragging axe is like. Sweet and unforgiving, I think that’s a poisonous nature; which is good.  Poison is good, poison has a purpose. It doesn’t disappoint when it dismantles. Crave that drive.

In conclusion, why not give in? It works and the wrong side of the track has the best atmosphere. Lower your pinkies and hoist your bottles, it’s time for a little bloodshed.

Unfaithfully Yours, Peanut.