hey. it’s late, or early, depending on which side of the sun you’re on. i'm the guy with the playlist that swerves from the quiet ache of american football to the velvet darkness of type o negative, then crashes into the raw nerve of deftones or the blistering frustration of slipknot. sometimes it’s just the hum of a feedback loop in my head.
i guess i’m caught somewhere in the static between yearning for something real and just wanting to burn it all down. this everyday hum, it’s not really cutting it. there’s a certain melancholy beauty in the decay, you know? like an abandoned house with vines growing through the windows. or a perfectly crafted sad song you listen to on repeat 'til 4 am.
my flannel shirts are worn, my black tee collection is extensive, and yeah, i probably own too many pairs of slightly scuffed boots. i’m not looking for perfect. perfect is boring. perfect is a lie. i’m more interested in the cracks, the edges, the places where things don't quite fit.
i’m tired of the noise, but also, i thrive in it. a quiet kind of rebellion, maybe. looking for someone who gets that. someone who understands the weight of unsaid things, the desire for a different kind of intensity, a connection that feels less like a script and more like a scream, or a whisper, depending on the moment.
discretion is the silent understanding. an unspoken agreement in the shadows. i’m just trying to find a transient escape, a temporary riot, a shared moment where the mundane fades and something real, raw, and maybe a little bit dangerous, takes over. maybe we can find our own kind of beauty in the brokenness.
