Who would’ve ever guessed the white bird was clever enough to stay in the sky, wondering what the point was to a year, let alone a season. Half your nights inevitably turn into day, the other half, aren’t as lucky. You’ve got to keep the momentum because if you stop, even just once, your hair will turn gray. Shooting stars are really falling stars and bits of crumbling hearts, but they only exist because we’ve played so many parts. If sanity can be kept when the rain and the wind shake hands, it should be a cakewalk.
You’re a catch within impossible odds, a rare one at that. you’re a disturbed solution to a disturbed equation. If the ocean waves enough, it’ll eventually find it’s shore. Old ways are making me me, and making me love, but they are making me dizzy because I don’t want to be me, and I don’t want to love. Somehow, you made a crater on me without leaving a print or a trace, quite possibly the only rose in all of history that didn’t have thorns, but I bleed anyway.
The moon sets in another ocean tonight,
I watch from the shore.
I’m not worried about how dark my eyes get.
I’m not worried about getting wet,
I’m going to sit here, and wait for it.
The moon rests in that ocean bed,
Held tightly by your sun.
I’m not worried about what to do.
I’m not worried because this isn’t new.
But I won’t be a cloud that ruins the view
Im not gonna be plan B.
Driving down the 101 to the sound of 1979, watching all the lightposts pass by. They come on time with the beat of the song like a metronome, this is beauty. Like the song, the beauty will end. The night isn’t raining but tinier than tiny droplets smack the windshield and merge together creating a wall, a layer of water between the road and me. I can’t seem to pass through the glass onto my road unless I violently slam into something, I fight the urge yet I never trusted the seatbelt anyway, The feeling of something choking me was jokingly trying to keep me safe, and airbags would just be obnoxious. I never want the drive to end.
I’m sorry to anyone that meets my sorry state, but the drive is too beautiful to ever mimic again. Once is enough.
Neverending melancholic songs seem to give me more answers to questions I haven’t asked yet. You sit and drive in a new car, new droplets and new walls of water to rush through. Why rush? Because life is too fast not to rush through. It’s better to burn out than fade away. You were right when you said we’re all just bricks in the wall. You were right when you said we were all dust in the wind, and you were right when you said we can’t always get what we want. But you were wrong when you said everything would be okay.
There’s no look on my face, it doesn’t move up or down, side to side, it’s on cruise control and doesn’t want to slow down to look at all the accidents. You’re eyes are staring off into space, looking everywhere except for my face. Everyone’s crashing and burning but I’ll still yawn and wonder which bottle will get me sleepy tonight. It’s sad and unfair, but we were meant for despair.
Nothing fits me quite as right as you did, but c’est la vie and etc.
This night, she sleeps as a sea creature, or even a being from another realm. The mysteries of her oceans are being explored right now by a sailor from another world as I speak. T’is the most painful of realities as the world of magic and splendor she tried to maintain comes toppling down against tonight’s moonlight. The morning sun will ache and tremble, for the dances of tonight will scar and become eternal. The moon’s reflection in the calm sea has been decimated by waves that distort the things we knew and couldn’t tell. Perhaps there was never a reflection to begin with, a night with no moon.
“I’ll see you soon,” has evolved from a romantic phrase into an ominous one. That same moon shouts it to all that succumbs to it’s mesmerizing gaze. The moon had lost its magic when that foreign rocket landed on its surface, defecating it with its touch. The universe was robbed of its charm and has become just another desolate rock floating in space. Among neverending rocks floating in space, now having the addition of the moon, my moon, in their ranks. But alas, the sun still shines it’s rays that are indistinguishable from shiny tears,
It’s so exciting! I feel like a spy in a movie with all the codenames and monikers flying around. Enemy forces are still unstable and snaps as fast as a ’68 GT fastback. I don’t exactly know what a ’68 fastback is, but it sounds speedy. I’ve no doubt a new system of tactical rendezvous have been established for the enemies, and my inside mole seems to have been captured, probably tortured into leaking our mission data. All I have left is my cover and it is likely that they’ve made me, and are using me in their grand scheme of total annihilation.
Time for a pancake breakfast and an afternoon of books with a friend.
“Don’t you hate it when you don’t get credited for work you do, Georgie? It’s not like those paintings painted themselves after all.”
I just had to speak in code one more time as an homage, haha. Anyhoo, I’m really excited for the week ahead, I’ve got two auditions in which I play a manic drug abuser who’s talks faster than he thinks. Probably a secondary role. And the other, I play a manic depressive existentialist who’s on the road to nowehere fast. These kinds of characters have always intrigued me and I plan on using method acting. Now the second role, I have no qualms about having to get into character. For the first role, I’m probably going to need to by a baggie of meth or maybe ketamine. That way I can be a complete scumbag. Free pancakes at IHOP today! I’m not a fan but I AM a fan of the word FREE, so I’ll be supporting.
Now to bump up Brenton Wood as I get ready. And I don’t have curtains on my windows 😉
I wish you’d slit my throat for a quick death than to slit my wrists so i can slowly fade away. I’m forced to watch everything happen in slow motion while the life seeps through my veins, watching every inhuman act committed by man or something other than man. I suppose i have to suffer before my blood runs out, but this is torture. I don’t have the strength to fight it while watching you slowly do the same to someone else. I’m breathing heavy and impulsively trying to fight to stay alive. Finish me off quick so I can just die, let me go, set me free, etc. just do something.
half the words you say are true, or all the words you say are true but you try hard to discredit yourself. Why was I fighting for to begin with? I don’t even know anymore, but I do know that either path I chose would’ve bled me dry. Shut off the lights, I don’t want to see anything anymore. Show me the flowers I sent, Show me the sunlight we danced under. show me the glasses with our lip prints we drank out of, show me anything but blood. burn me down if that’s how everything going to start. breath of flame from that look on your face. now i fear that i may taste these tears rolling down my face.
James Bond had this rule. Always have an escape plan. That’s why he is who he is. You were my escape plan, and now my lungs are about to drown along with the screams.
I just got a call tonight. Much like one of those pinnacle moments in the movie where the person realizes the error of their ways, so that things can be changed. As charmed as I am about this idea, this proposal is usually accompanied by smoke in the chimney. After the many times I’ve been fucked over relentlessly, I don’t just invite ‘sunshine and lollipops,’ in without a cavity search. Keep the glove.
I’m reminded by the million tiny little amazing things that we had, shared, and when all added up, only made sense that we were together. like family. I was also reminded by the few big unfortunate events that had to occur to really push us off our rockers. It feels like I’ve known her my entire life, even the little things, like the significance of Mockingbird by Eminem, or celebrity named dog from back home, and more importantly, the dreams we always talked about which had become our gameplan. It seems now we need a Hail Mary, and i’ve only seen this person a total of thirty or so days within the last year. Is this crazy? It is to everyone. But it seems like french toast in the morning to us now.
I have no idea where her mind is now, but I miss it. More so than my own. And I really hope she didn’t lie to me about everything she said tonight, but we’ll find out tomorrow won’t we? Stay tuned. I hope it’ll be a short break, because if I put all the chips I have left into this one, I’m fucked.
Does true love last forever? It has a chance. but only if both parties are willing to try. Honesty is key. Honesty honesty. At this certain stage in my life, I’ve discovered vanity to be the most deadly sins of all; it leads you to commit all the other ones and watches you comically try to justify it. It sits and nods it’s self assured head and giggles when you walk away thinking you’re clean. It also knows that the excuses weren’t for anyone but yourself. I suppose all the great sins work this way, but right now, that one is loudest.
Anyhoo, I was watching the The Fugitive with Harrison Ford the other day. I envied the rapport Doctor Robert Kimball had with is wife before she died. I also liked the beginning of Up, the movie by Pixar. Why don’t I know any of these kinds of people? The movie Valentines Day was nice too, until Jessica Alba’s character did a hardcore homage to my life later in the film. Movies are great to certain people if those people can relate. Just like a good book.
A friend of mine reminded me that sadness and despair is going to help create art. I just saw something today that would normally push a person into self applicable death. However, it’s too late. I can’t even react anymore. Maybe it’s a sign that says “hey buddy, guess what? You’ve gotten over it!” Or it could be a sign saying, “Hey buddy, you’re too dangerous with this stuff, so i’m going to leave you a sociopath. I hope you kept a receipt for those feelings. Otherwise, there’s a shit-ton of paperwork for the repo and etc…”
Alexi Wasser asked if love can last. It can, but is far from eternal. Everyone has this thing called freedom now, and overpopulation kind of plays a role. There simply is too many people out there not to fall in love with daily. Yet, if one foot is in and the other is out, then you never were really going to accept true love in the first place, you’ll always be looking. Then when you hit 35, you start saying to yourself, “hmm that guy/girl wasn’t so bad, I should’ve just gotten him one of those nasal strips and poof! no more snoring!”
What constitutes ever lasting love to you? Someone perfect? As cliche as it is to start off a sentence stating the following statement is going to sound cliche, no one is perfect. It’s the imperfections you learn to live with that make that match a perfect match. Believe you me, they’d have to make the same compromise for your imperfections as well. But, fuck it! we’re young! 2010’s sexual forecast calls for promiscuous tastings anyway! No one is ever meant to last forever, and I’ve heard Chernobyl is okay to take a tour of again!
Anything you can do I can do too. Though I don’t have the heart to put my feelings into my actions. Their only goal is to self deprecate, which is a sign of a good mate. Self deprecators will always need you.
kiss kiss, xoxo.
(i know what i said)
Everything looks promising. Everything looks bright on the road to come. But it doesn’t mean anything to do it all alone. Success hasn’t got a meaning if you can’t share it with those you care about. My soul is right next to the blues section but no one shops there. Yeah it’s my birthday, and i’ve got birthday wishes up the arse, but my sole birthday wish isn’t coming true. I hear happy birthdays along with the plucked high notes of a guitar playing a little nostalgic tune. This is a day of joy, and celebration but it’s feeling more like a wake for my insides.
My birthday cake and candles are replaced by an ashtray with an equal number of cigarettes, and I’ve eaten a slice of it. Festive lights and laughs drowned out by Radiohead’s OK Computer, and I’m using fastfood napkins as Kleenex. I feel colder today than any day during the winter even with my vintage brown ski jacket. No warm hugs and bottomless bottles of wine, just that sore pain you get in the back of your neck from trying to muffle yourself from crying too loudly. It is Winter and Autumn rolled into a bat that beats me unconscious. I want the Summer and Spring, but Jagger says, I can’t always get what I want.
I’d be lying if I said I knew my happy birthday song was going to be sung by Thom Yorke, He’s great for virtually every other day of the week, excluding Christmas, but his words and voice seem to know me best right now.
Some people never get over ‘nam, and some people never forget the night Chicago died; this is one of those delights.