Kingston Rossdale accepting Zuma’s ALS Ice Bucket Challenge on 17/8/2014
Gwen Stefani, Gavin Rossdale & Zuma have all taken the challenge already
[I don’t usually gif or post photos of the boys, but this video was shared by Gwen Stefani in aid of a very good cause]
To let a lot of my followers know…I am not dead. I just haven’t had a lot of time to be on. I am soon going to release some music via Tumblr and then I think I can post some more shit after that. In the meantime…life sucks. I am struggling with my depression and my PTSD and am in therapy. But I am in rehab and shit… but the music I am writing has been very very…therapeutically soothing.
I knew a boy, he came from the sea,he was the only one who ever knew the truth about me.
I’m overwhelmed and underweight. What did U expect? I’m overwraught and so discrased, I’m too ashamed to show my face.
And they came in to take U away,now. What I want I will never have. Im on the pacific coast highway.
With Ur guns in my hands.
My whole world was in your hands.
I knew a boy, he left me so damaged. Do U even know the extent of what U ravaged.
I’m so bloody and so duller, now.
I dont know what to do with my self now. I surrender I give in. U kicked down my door,cause i dnt let U in.
Im lost…where is everyone. I love people too much. So much it makes me feel too fucking sad and lonely. The worst thing about it…loneliness, being single and shit…is when you know exactly who you want to be with.
I am torn…I am broken. I am not what I used to be. I am lost…I am nothing more than a pothead occasional drinker. But certainly not dangerous… I love and miss them all. I needed them to feel better about my life…now what??
Things are so surreal.
I don’t know how to explain that
feeling, but all I can say is…
I’d do it again. MAYBE more…
But last night things were extremely surreal.
i seen the nails of my fingers get scales,
like snake skin and fishes.
I immediatly felt the stinging in my nose,
the sting…that “familiar sting”,
that Trent Reznor sings about.
That stinging that filled the air with,
the arome of eggs, rum, and natty ice.
The nastiness of the surrealism.
the reality of surreality…
It’s some trippy scary shit.