team edward

I love

summer

i don't recall a single care, just greenery and humid air.

mr chi city

new perspective

you mean everything to nothing

I don't know much, but a crutch is a crutch if it keeps you from moving on.

I would much prefer a broken down song. Six strings in a darkened theatre room. Maybe even in a club. Dare I say it, a garage. Just a voice. Just six strings. I don't need this produced shit.

Exceptions.

I used to fly like Peter Pan, all the children flew when I touched their hands. Screaming "I don't want to grow up, maybe I'll just never wake up!"

good

I'm stumbling right in front of you. Now, I won't refrain from guiding you there. Normal's not so, normal is not so far. Was it just a dream? Or something much more? We are not alone. Since you agreed to follow.

It's all in my head, if you want, you can look inside. There's nothing but red and all the mess I've been. It's all in the way I say what I don't mean, and mean what I don't. I need to speak of you and what is real.

They will never understand, what eats at our insides.

why aren't you funny

I love jokes that no one finds funny.

love, actually.

I'm only good at being young

Sun pours through holes in the curtains and he twitches his hand without knowing. The sun spills into the room like slow, yet warm honey, meeting the cracks in your eyes. He said to you, "You know, there's a crack in everything."

But you can't tie the two together. Probably never. Dust dances around the room like a million tiny ballerinas and you are mesmerized. They circle the rays of sun like a brilliant yellow spotlight.

"That's how the light gets in."

It's also how you get out, you think.

Bukowski

Oh God, visit me at my window as I am confined to the cells my ribcage forms. Lend your hand to me, something I can hold onto and be too weak to let go. You dictator, you controller, you sweet manipulator you. We dance like marionettes for God and he claps his hands in approval. Bukowski sings to the gutter on the street, sorting between bottles of liquor in his hands and the clutter of a poet's mind. He deals. We all deal.

Poets are more like vessels than humans, if anything. We live to write so others can live on our words. Our tongues tie romantically when not in you, and tie frantically when they are. The worst conversationalists are the best poets. The poets with stanzas instead of bones and another heart where the brain would be located.

The lumps in their throats loosen with the keys of a typewrite to guide them.

Bukowki's in the gutter with his mind amidst the clutter of a poet's heart and he sings. Oh, he sings.

My life's a cup of sugar I burrowed before time began and forgot to return. At first the taste of sugar crystals lining my tongue made me nauseated and I tilted the cup to the gutter and laid my fingers on the grates. All of my sugar, for the rest of my life, gone. How am I to sweeten my tea? My lemons? The bitter tastes in life? How am I to taste the warming electricity if I have so foolishly thrown my sugar into the gutter?

remember to feel real

"For the first time, he hear something that he knew to be music. He heard people singing. Behind him, across vast distances of space and time, from the place he had left, he thought he heard music too.

But perhaps it was only an echo."

- The Giver

goodluck

I wanted to see him. Sitting in his chair with the baseball scores on mute. I wanted to wish him a good day. But it wasn’t the glow of the tv on the stairwell. It was the light from the small kitchen lamp. living room unoccupied.

the nurse runs in

My brain is rotting away with every word you say to me, every song that comes on the radio, every mark my pencil makes. Are all artists crazy because they put so much of themselves into the lines they make that when they finish they're barely even there anymore?

I thought I saw you breathing

1. Casimir Pulaski Day by Sufjan Stevens

2. Gymnopedie by Erik Satie

3. Dramamine by Modest Mouse

4. Those to Come by The Shins

5. Talking Bird by Death Cab for Cutie

6. Every Thought a Thought of You by mewithoutYou

7. Row by Jon Brion

8. Bluebird by Coco B's

9. Here I dreamt I was an Architect by the Decemberists

10. Accident Prone by Jaw Breaker

defeat

You look so defeated lying there in your new twin sized bed, with a single pillow underneath your single head. I guess you decided that that old queen was more space than you would need and now it's in the alley behind your apartment with a sign that says it's free. And I hope you have more luck with this than me.

You used to think that someone would come along and lay beside you in the space that they belong. But the other side of the mattress and box spring stayed like new. And what's the point of holding onto what never gets used? Other than a sick desire for self-abuse.

And I try not to worry but you've got me terrified. It's like you're in some kind of hurry to say goodbye,

to say goodbye.

to say goodbye.

I've got a 20 dollar bill

You should never be ashamed of who you are or want to be. You simply can't change human nature, but I've realized how much I can actually despise myself. All my life I've played the waiting game. You know, all that bullshit about Good things come to those who wait.

Life passes by to those who wait. You really can't sit back in life and expect things to come to you. You need to jump into the pool. You need to learn and to practise.

Don't ever listen to people who tell you that everything will be alright if you wait. You have to take life into your own hands and keep it there.

Cause if you don't , who will?

from a great height

Often times, it feels as though the things that bring you down are like weights. Like for instant, some of the things that bring me down in life, is how I often over think everything.

Have you ever drawn something on a piece of blank paper, and then took an eraser and began madly erasing the page? Rubber shavings everywhere and the page is burning from the friction, but you persist, even if you can't see the mark anymore. Eventually you hit a snag, and the paper gets caught in the movement of the eraser and it rips a large hole into it. That's how I feel sometimes with my thinking pattern. I also have a hard time living in reality sometimes, but that one's too hard to explain.

But it's the things about the world around you and your life as a human being that get you down, they cause pressure, and one could compare them to weights being put onto your body.

Sometimes I wonder what life would be like without the weights. I wonder if you had nothing to worry about, and the weights being off your body, if you would just float up through the trees and into the sky. Not literally, of course, but hopefully you're catching my drift.

On your voyage you'd float up too high, not be able to breathe and everything would get cold, and eventually, you'd float so high that life would end. Maybe I'm being a little too metaphorical that it's not making sense, but it does to me.

So maybe we need these weights. We need these weights to hold us down, and to make us stronger. If not stronger, at least hold us onto the earth.

Anyway.

colorblind

I am covered in skin
No one gets to come in
Pull me out from inside
I am folded, and unfolded, and unfolding
I am colorblind
Coffee black and egg white
Pull me out from inside
I am ready 
I am ready
I am ready
I am fine

can't

I can't promise you anything.

I can't tell you that everything is going to be okay if, quite frankly, I don't know if everything is going to be okay.

I can't tell you that I love you if I don't.

I can't tell you that at the end of the day, things will work out.

I can't tell you that you will always be happy.

And I can't tell you if you're ever going to fall in love.

But I can tell you that I will try.

I can tell you that hope is more important that people think.

I can tell you that I will love you.

I can tell you at the end of the day, that even things don't work out as planned, you've still got tomorrow.

I can tell you that happiness will come to those who want it.

and I can tell you that even if you aren't always happy, when you are happy you'll learn to appreciate it a lot more.

do cynics dream?

"I just feel sorry for them all. It's like they think that once they get out of here, every thing's going to be great. They'll get into that famous school, they'll be on broadway. But they won't. The sad thing is that these are the people who I'll see working at Wal-Mart, ten years from now. Alphabetizing movies onto thick plastic shelves. Movies they could have been in. And it's all because of dreams.

They run on dreams like cars run on fossil fuels. But the only problem is that dreams are different from fossil fuels. Dreams can't move you. You move you. This is so misconstrued these days. People think that because they have a dream, they'll achieve it and everything will be alright in the end. Well, it won't until you start being realistic and start running on something other than dreams. But the problem with these kids is that they don't realize it.

That's why I never wanted to be an artist. Because I'm not going to get out of here, paint on the sidewalk and have a millionaire walk up behind me and say "this is brilliant". Life doesn't work that way for people like me. And I doubt it works for them like that too. I guess that I don't believe in dreams as a whole anymore. I've become too cynical."

"I think you're too young to be a cynic."

"Age has nothing to do with anything anymore."

using most unfriendly words

"Then if your lovely song would grace my ears, or to even hear you speak, would ease my pains and fears." The crow looked down with a candy in his beak. "Your poems of wisdom, my good crow, what a paradise they bring!" This flattery pleased the proud bird, so he opened his mouth and began to sing:

"Your subtle acclamation's true! Best to give praise where praise is due. Every rook and jay in the Corvidae's been raving about me too. They admire me, one and all. Must be the passion in my caw! My slender bill known through the escadrille, my fierce commanding claw!"

I got a walnut brownie brain, and molasses in my veins, crushed graham cracker crust, my powdered sugared funnel cake cocaine. Let the crescent cookie rise. These carob colored almond eyes will rest to see my cashewed princess in the swirling marble sky. Will rest upon the knee, where all the visions cease to be. A root beer float in our banana boat across the tapioca sea. When letting all attachments go, is the only prayer we know, may it be so, may it be so, may it be so, oh.

I feel like my life has been put on pause, cut into one more piece. The freshest of the pieces, having lived for the last month, only to be sewn back into the rest of me. I feel the need to unpack my life.

where the fuck are you going?

traveling swallowing Dramamine, feeling spaced breathing out Listerine. I'd said what I'd said that I'd tell ya and that you'd killed the better part of me, if you could just milk it for everything. I've said what I'd said and you know what I mean but I still can't focus on anything. We kiss on the mouth but still cough down our sleeves.

Traveling swallowing Dramamine. Look at your face like you're killed in a dream and you think you've figured out everything, I think I know my geography pretty damn well. You say what you need so you'll get more, if you could just milk it for everything. I've said what I said and you know what I mean but I still can't focus on anything.