troubled words of a troubled mind

Random text conversation with random stranger

Unknown: Heey     -*the princess*
Me: Hey girl. How you doin?
Unknown: Good and u     -*the princess*
Me: Missing you.
Unknown: Aww     -*the princess*
Me: Tell me, princess. Have you ever kissed a frog?
Unknown: Umm no y?     -*the princess*
Me: Are you a real princess?
Unknown: Yes     -*the princess*
Me: How old are you, princess?
Unknown: 17     -*the princess*
Me: Be gone with you she-devil!!!
Unknown: Wat     -*the princess*
Me: I said BE GONE WITH YOUuuUUUuUu!!!
Unknown: U wanna go with me?     -*the princess*
Me: Do you even know who I am?
Unknown: Send a pic     -*the princess*
Me: No, I don't know who you are, weirdo.
Unknown: Hahah yeah u do     -*the princess*
Me: Well, YOU send a pic first, then.
Unknown: Nanna  u first     -*the princess*
Me: Do you know who I am?
Unknown: Fernando     -*the princess*
Me: Sorry, honey, but I ain't your prince. I don't know who Fernando is, but this ain't he.
Unknown: Ha okaay my bbad     -*the princess*
Me: Good luck. Be good. Don't do drugs.
 ------The End------

Received a text from an unknown number the other day

Unknown: Hey michael! How are you bro?
Me: I'm alright. How are you, broski?
Unknown: I'm doing pretty well! I met you at the bart station a couple of weeks ago correct?
Me: Yes! You were the tall Englishman with the curly mustache & monocle. I was the albino peddling cheese sculptures. I hope you enjoyed your Gouda Buddha.
Unknown: Lol, no, I'm actually an african american...hahaha
Me: Albinos have bad eyesight. That's why I make things with my hands.
Unknown: (no response)
Me: Sorry, man. I'm just messing with you. I'm not Michael. Wrong number.
 ------The End------

We’re all hurtling towards death, yet here we are for the moment, alive. Each of us knowing we’re going to die, each of us secretly believing we won’t.

“

—	Synecdoche, New York

There are nearly thirteen million people in the world. None of those people is an extra. They’re all the leads of their own stories. They have to be given their due.

“

—	Synecdoche, New York

Everything is more complicated than you think. You only see a tenth of what is true. There are a million little strings attached to every choice you make; you can destroy your life every time you choose. But maybe you won’t know for twenty years. And you may never ever trace it to its source. And you only get one chance to play it out. Just try and figure out your own divorce. And they say there is no fate, but there is: it’s what you create. And even though the world goes on for eons and eons, you are only here for a fraction of a fraction of a second. Most of your time is spent being dead or not yet born. But while alive, you wait in vain, wasting years, for a phone call or a letter or a look from someone or something to make it all right. And it never comes or it seems to but it doesn’t really. And so you spend your time in vague regret or vaguer hope that something good will come along. Something to make you feel connected, something to make you feel whole, something to make you feel loved. And the truth is I feel so angry, and the truth is I feel so fucking sad, and the truth is I’ve felt so fucking hurt for so fucking long and for just as long I’ve been pretending I’m OK, just to get along, just for, I don’t know why, maybe because no one wants to hear about my misery, because they have their own.
Well, fuck everybody.
Amen.

“

—	Synecdoche, New York

What was once before you - an exciting, mysterious future - is now behind you. Lived; understood; disappointing. You realize you are not special. You have struggled into existence, and are now slipping silently out of it. This is everyone’s experience. Every single one. The specifics hardly matter. Everyone’s everyone.”

“As the people who adore you stop adoring you; as they die; as they move on; as you shed them; as you shed your beauty; your youth; as the world forgets you; as you recognize your transience; as you begin to lose your characteristics one by one; as you learn there is no-one watching you, and there never was, you think only about driving - not coming from any place; not arriving any place. Just driving, counting off time. Now you are here, at 7:43. Now you are here, at 7:44. Now you are…

Gone.

“

—	Synecdoche, New York