December 2008
i slept awful last night.
i’m also very bothered and very anxious as of late, and i’m not too sure why.
kinda ready for the whole deserted island thing, no phones, no computers, and so on.
i forgot how funny donnie darko is, though i still am so confused by it that it’s annoying.
and since i can’t escape to paradise, i’d settle for my parents, my brother and my...
Sarah out in a Mississippi moon Tattoos in her eyes Guitar cradle, romance movies tongue like winter wine Penny tosser, slowly sleeping Babybreath behind her ear Whisper me closer, my holy ocean On the worst time of year
She’s my cocaine flamer She’s my rolling tide She got a hold of me tightly Curses me by design My rain water lover Cigarettes on the side She is a broken songstress...
I found out that love is usually very far away
But the pulse is always audible
I found out that love is usually very far away
But the pulse is always audible
I found out that love is usually very far away
But the pulse is always audible
I found out that love is usually very far away
But the pulse is always audible
I found out that love is usually very far away
But the pulse is always...
I Miss You.
The lake’s all frozen over. It’s got nothing to say.
if i could hear you scream.
late last night.
I Will Dream You Come to Me, Where You Elaborate on God and Tell Me The Things That Make You Hug Me Harder.
Whisper When You Get Home.
silly conglomerations.
Not Too Sure, really (also not too sure why i capitalized all that?). Maybe trying to piece something together, maybe Christmas loneliness, maybe autobiographical fabrications and blatant lies, but production anyway.
And to my insides, “I don’t even care / what’s going on out there / I got you and I don’t want to share, with any of them.”
I. The county...
and i think it just kicked in.
Days wished for
“I miss you, sir”
One thousand nights
If needed, more-
Show me your scars
I’ll kiss right on the ache
Not so sure
Where to go
Faith in fallin
Worth all I know-
I am coming, lover
Stay still for search
Years far gone
Of you, no sign
tears and snow
Always on my mind-
Could it be? Oh, no
You, here at home
If I could run
Faster come
heavy heart grown
Innocence undone-
Stay there,...
Literally.
My first Christmas alone and away was my first Christmas in Nashville; I had to work the Eve, a day a bit warmer than the rest of the week, but darkened with gentle rain that turned mecurial.
My mom must have called me everyday that week, confessing her comfort with the situation that I wasn’t even asking about then turning paradoxical when double-checking that I wasn’t holding cards...
Re: Depression
I see you on your Saturdays
strumming your guitar
designing someone who makes you laugh
who knows when to kiss your scars
The labrynth myriad
you are drawing on my mind
Not to say I’d fill a void
but I’d read every word you write
It’s not the yes, no, definitions
It’s not some curtain call
Just the eyes to your strings and things
when they untie, i know...
Christmas (Leaves of Grass Edition)
“These things inside me, they repeat like broken records,
spinning pretty somethins behind my eyes,
and when I can’t look at you,
I can paint your picture perfectly in my mind.
And when I get old,
I’m gonna miss you all the time.”
—DRA
Merry Christmas, wherever y’all are.
david gray’s “new horizons,” is making the best of my blah day. go ahead and dissect it, its like an optimistic manual of good advice in application to life and love, which is so against my taste.
“The same thing that’s scrolled across the stars / is written under our skin.”
I wonder: on the day of his omniscient birth, maybe Jesus really just wanted to go back home.
When I first met you, you were 100 days down a well. It was too dark to see any details when I leaned over to look, but I was so drawn to your self-consoling whispers that you didn’t mean for anyone else to hear.
After some listening, I dropped a wish to you and was so surprised to hear your surprise. There came a gasp, a silence, and a stillness. I slid another coin from...
When I first met you, you were 100 days down a...
An opening sentence to opening sentiments.
{Writing for yourself is exhaling}
What more’st sad; death or departing?
Either end spreading ribs til snap,
I may nod the former more over,
For then absence may recieve permanent grasp.
Call it self-consciousness, but we we’re star-crossed from the onset; a grocery store trip which she put the bread at the bottom of the bag.
Building confidence like cities
to get your
attention
but they crumble at the hinges
when you start
to smile.
Two old oaks converge in winter
one for you, one for me
the surface separates
in-tri-ca-cy
there’s no denying
what’s beneath
Whenever, however, I die, I am pretty sure I want Jon Brion a few yards away with a keyboard.
I have alot to say about Synecdoche, New York, which Brion did the score for (apparently him and Kaufman are BFF). That movie is A. perfectly original and B. like watching literature.
More to come. someday.
Slowly driving a Sunday night avenue, looking at the frosted bar windows that might hold you. I...