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"Roots"/Devendra Banhart [14 Sep 2006|07:05pm] When the roots of the tree Are as cold as can be When the wind in the sea Are the moth meets the bee When the rays of the sun Lick your skin with its tongue And the grass with its green And the grass with its green And the shine with its sheen And the shine with its sheen And the trains with their tracks And the spines with their backs And your sway with its slow And the wind with its blow And your scream with its soul I don't play rock n roll And the people with their lungs And the people with their paws If the sky were a stone Made of lips Made of bones Count my teeth To keep the time post comment

"Clam, Crab, cockle, Cowrie"- Joanna Newsom [13 Sep 2006|03:10pm] That means no Where I come from I am cold, out waiting for the day to come I chew my lips And I scratch my nose Feels so good to be a rose Oh don't Don't you lift me up Like I'm that shy no-no-no-no-no, just give it up See, there are bats all dissolving in a row Into the wishy-washy dark that can't let go I cannot let go So I thank the lord And I thank his sword Though it be mincing up the morning, slightly bored Oh oh oh, morning Without warning Like a hole Oh, and I watch you go There are some mornings when the sky looks like a road There are some dragons who were built to have and hold And some machines are dropped from great heights lovingly And some great bellies ache with many bumblebees And they sting so terribly I do as I please Now I'm on my knees Your skin is something that I stir into my tea And I am watching you And you are starry, starry, starry (and you will never Ever know how Very sorry you will be ... I am) And I'm tumbling down And I check a frown Well just look around That's why I love this town To see me; Serenaded hourly Celebrated sourly Dedicated dourly Waltzing with the open sea Clam, crab, cockle, cowrie Will you just look at me! Oh, oh, oh, oh Oh, oh, oh, oh post comment

"By Starlight"- Smashing Pumpkins [09 May 2006|11:47pm] by starlight i'll kiss you and promise to be your one and only i'll make you feel happy and leave you to be lost in mine and where will we go, what will we do? soon said i, will know dead eyes, are you just like me? cause her eyes were as vacant as the seas dead eyes, are you just like me? and all along, we knew we'd carry on just to belong by starlight i know you as lovely as a wish granted true my life has been empty, my life has been untrue and does she really know, who i really am? does she really know me at last dead eyes, are you just like me?

"Because the Night"- patti smith. [09 May 2006|01:54pm] take me now baby here as I am pull me close, try and understand desire is hunger is the fire I breathe love is a banquet on which we feed come on now try and understand the way I feel when I'm in your hands take my hand come undercover they can't hurt you now, can't hurt you now, can't hurt you now because the night belongs to lovers because the night belongs to lust because the night belongs to lovers because the night belongs to us

The skinny. [23 Jan 2006|04:21pm] Now you know the truth. Congratulations, your prize hides behind door number three. You can see me. You aren't the skinny mirror which I pouty-pose for, one arm on the hip. You are the glass staring me straight in the iris, drawing yourself into my web. Would you like my crinkly fingers to assist you in a pat on the back? Listen to the sound of my hands clapping for you. I am all ears. A little shaky in the torso, light-weight and hovering like a broken-winged seagull. A para-sail over a bouy. I levitate above the paranormal and walk underneath wet umbrellas. This must bring you emphatic delight. A spark to the mixed green blinkers you posess. Take a bath with me- I will let you scrub at me. Take a stab at me, go on. I dare you. But you don't want to do that, do you Mister? No, no. Close your car door. Wish in the whites. Call upon your under-study to sit beside you while you master the fine language of Americans. Seal your own envelope, go on, you can do it. Feel that goo mixing around in your belly? Feast on it. Build a concrete wall, and on second thought, exist behind it. Live your days and eat your rice bowls under a quilt, behind the concrete wall. Oh, what am I saying, you will know when you meet me.

.Confessions of a Broken Heart. [12 Jan 2006|02:38am] where oh where are you magic eraser wipe away these icky chalk stains staining my palms and my fingertips leaking ink flossing my teeth words lost their meaning please remove these linking stick figures that clutter the fresh green i want to hide under my desk with oversized teddy bears and have nap-time oh, once wonderous world with infinite stuffed animals safe and sound under grandma's knitted blankets clicking my heels together please send me home please send me home i never knew daddy would walk out the door i never see his funny purple shorts in the laundry basket anymore and unmistakable facial expressions while he flipped through channels white noise in his head yelling over my shoulder to be correct even during computer games i never knew what it felt like to have daddy twirl me around or send me off to prom with a kiss on the forehead i didn't go to prom no one ever saw me as an option i wonder what went wrong there is a new man sleeping in my mothers bed i don't know him but he funds my college years i have two new brothers i only had a sister, but now she drives a car my cat sits and looks at my eyes her fur is soft and youthful with ripe eyes of green how come every nice man leaves? the tired parts of me grew bored of crying i remember making up songs and blinking my eyes to the camera lense i thought i was the brightest star in the sky you thought i was okay tell me truth tell me it all do you want me to go away? do you all want me to go away? i've already left post comment

Excerpt from Me and You and Everyone We Know [11 Aug 2005|08:13pm] "if you really love me, then let's make a vow right here. together. right now. okay?" okay. "alright, repeat after me. i'm gonna be free." i'm gonna be free. "and i'm gonna be brave" i'm gonna be brave. "good. i'm gonna live each day as if it were my last." oh that's good, "you like that?" yeah. "say it." i'm gonna live each day as if it were my last. "fantastically." fantastically. "courageously." courageously. "with grace." with grace. "and in the dark of the night, and it does get dark. when i call a name." when i call name. "it'll be your name." what's your name? "nevermind. let's go, say it." let's go. "everywhere." everywhere. "even though." even though. "we're scared." we're scared. "cause it's life." it's life. "and it's happening. it's really really happening. right now."

A picnic for Jekyl and Hide. [10 Jun 2005|09:50pm] "Follow me! Hurry!" I pulled his masculine hand from my left and spun him round and round like the pink Merry-Go-Round we saw earlier that day We twirled until we felt drunk in an effortless dance The stars were spinning And that's how it always was, he and I He stood like a black stallion as I'd sweep the tiny leaves off my summer dress His gaze never removed itself from over the familiar cliff, except when I'd hop into focus He wouldn't have to say a word- I heard it all. He clicked his pen- ready to jot down those radiating little beams that lit up his mind "Do you see that?!" he shouted, as he pointed in urgency "What?" I'd curiously ask, like a dog inhaling a stranger for the first time. "That microscopic nest filled with ripe, blue eggs!" And I'd nod, uncertain of what the fuss was over, still listening for rationality that inevitably wouldn't come. "It's things like that which satisfy me." And with that, he'd kick a pebble into the stream below our dangling feet. "Oh, don't be silly," I remarked "If ever were you satisfied, you would not be a writer. For what could you write about if you are satisfied?" A pause, a glance, and then a snicker to follow. "You know me all too well." Hand in hand we walked toward our street for supper.

scalpel to the knee [05 Jun 2005|02:55am] Today I felt the expansion and contraction of what toleration is in full I had this sort of lump, this sort of fist-full of pipe cleaners stored where I generally speak from They sat there and read outdated issues of Time Magazine, lounging in salmon-colored robes with the tv blaring All green i've seen people who make me turn my head in the opposite direction Because they're ugly Because they have a skin disease or a neurological disorder that makes me uncomfortable to look in the eye Needless to say, a witch doctor has been brewing night's tales with deformed bones shoved between his nostrils So, I pretend to be glancing off in the distance with my cheap hair products filling my airway And I wonder... All this progressive art (because ugliness is art.... or something) whirlwinds through a staggered body And is that what they see in me? This painting I've created during a sleepwalking block is hanging, slightly crooked, slightly bent This fat, obese American bloated with fast food chain brunches Do they see it? I want to tear it down with scrapbook scissors and wrap caution tape until the image is Monday's featured Crime Scene I can pull on the threads, the tiny threads that fall from between my teeth Like dental floss And each shred tells another misfortune from inside the crystal ball All the music box memories were lulled by the crank of their springs Little red wagons become to small to fit a girl from Long Island She used to be so tiny in her Osh Kosh overalls with double lining as she'd trample over her parents' Monte Carlo, sure to not miss the daily ice cream truck What a big void blossomed from such a tiny thing She'd tape record herself singing and dancing and dressing in mommy's night gown and hot pink feather boa's Sometimes daddy would hand her the spotlight and she'd slam on her Kermit the Frog keyboard, all the wrong notes, but she was too little to care about mistakes She loved to make a good story- it kept her fresh when she couldn't write the endings to her own Being a little girl in a dirty world, she tried to collect scraps to circus acts But then she got tired. Life became so easy and that was her complex

"This is Love"- PJ Harvey [19 Dec 2004|10:32am] [ mood | somethingismissing. ] I can't believe life's so complex When I just wanna' sit here and watch you undress This is love that I'm feeling Does it have to be a life full of dread? I wanna' chase you round the table, I wanna' touch your head This is love that I'm feeling I can't believe that the axis turns on suffering When you taste so good I can't believe that the axis turns on suffering While my head burns This is love that I'm feeling Even in the summer, even in the spring You can never get too much of a wonderful thing You're the only story that I never told You're my dirty little secret, wanna' keep you so Come on out, come on over, help me forget Keep the walls from falling on me, tumbling in This is love that I'm feeling

New Bright Eyes Lyrics. [12 Dec 2004|08:25am] ( Read more... )

.Inescapable Urges. [28 Nov 2004|08:33am] The thought of performing as a stripper, being fucked up on massive amounts of drugs, indulging in abusive sex in a cheap motel, and sleeping naked in the rain sounds highly appealing right now. To drop my standards of morality to that extent. No reservations- just receding back to the primal nature that is built into our bones. I want to strip away everything and let my intestines hang out. I want to open a flood-gate and laugh hysterically. I want to spin around until I throw up. I want to let out all of the agression I feel toward certain people in my life and hit them with baseball bats. But, I'm good. So I'm going to go make myself a sandwich instead.

Culture Vulture. [04 Nov 2004|03:56am] I see your reflection Yeah, that smile is quite the irony It's time now Step out of there Come on out of those limosuines Policies and dollar bills can't save you now Whisper your lies to me, come on, why don't you Look me in the eye Let's hear this master plan Mister "I'm so sure" Mister culture vulture I don't think you hear me You didn't hear us That sly grin isn't working Let's talk pro-life It's a real generation Let's talk pro-life We now have our own weapon of mass destruction Drop bombs where the roads aren't vacant Let's invade homes Bloody kids praying to their Gods And we wonder why they terrorize Aren't we all so god damn terrified Where's the fucking cause for your effect Explain this to me, Mister "I've got the cure" Mister Culture Vulture Let's hear it I'm still listening For the sake of tomorrow For my little sister's birthday Are you ready for control The slippers dipped in power Your daddy's patrol I'm not old enough to drink But I'm allowed crown you king Say goodbye England walked away The joke of the day is the USA How can you show that face Sorry won't cut it Surrender yourself The soldiers bite their thumbs At least I don't have a car You make me sick, Mister "let's declare war" Mister Culture Vulture That's what you are Yeah, Mister Culture Vulture

.Please Hang Up And Try Again. [30 Oct 2004|11:00am] And the phone went dead I heard dial tones pouring songs from their lungs Couldn't let go of you Couldn't let you go On the other end, you were on that wooden plank Staring into the void that filled your bookshelf You read all of your grandfather's books He was so proud of you when you were a little boy He'd tuck you in and peel the splinters from your toes Those disheveled wooden planks that you'd never replace I eased into the warm spot of your bed as you'd tell me pieces of history You had layed there all morning while your cat warmed your chest I loved to sit where you were I'd surround myself in your fossils Pretending I was your new chapter in the war epic Did you think I'd forget so soon I'm still on the line The operator is speaking with a flattened shrill I want to yank the phone from its wire, but this how I spend my day Instead I wiggle my jaw a bit Curling my toes and launching myself into the rug I haven't hung up yet By now you are probably drawing a woman's profile You were easily distracted toward the end of a month It was a happy smile that you'd hold And it would last through your morning routine I guess we shouldn't be too sure of anything, but I didn't think I'd still be listening to this recording I wonder when we'll stop killing each other and play nice

.You Don't Want To Be The Person That Ruins Everybody Elses' Life. [30 Oct 2004|10:10am] Hanging at the corner store When I blew you kisses through the brassy window And you stood and smiled while busses flew past your avenue It was something in close proximity A stutter during your outbursts Never ever still Always winding inside of clockwork The springs and wires that rattled in a case I held your watch in the palm of my hand as you showered You laughed with admiration for my fascinations you found to be so clever I'd turn around and fold your shirts The collared ones with slight tears on the pocket I ran to bake you corn muffins while you scattered me into pieces Displacing my personality in each corner of the bedroom Always wanting to be my savior Isn't it pertinent to play somebody's superhero? You slaved in the kitchen hurting yourself just to feed my hunger I could never get full, though, and I'm sorry for it My eyes were always thirsty for the next step The freshly coated evergreens Something always sleeping while I awoke Should I take those pills you swallow? Will I be someone new, maybe? One of those cutout dolls with the symmetrical faces Crayola colored pencils dragging color toward a face Sweeping those dreadful bangs away from my forehead Trying to join the most innocent of conversations With strangers who forget my face, anyway My fault for playing hide and seek Everyone is always gone and it would be silly to buy a barbie doll It would be similar to my father going Trick Or Treating I remember those days when he'd drag me by the hand Dressed in spooky costumes to disguise myself He has ways of trapping me in my Halloween costume Are we always playing make believe? With our imaginary friends When do we grow up

"She's a Jar"- Wilco [18 Oct 2004|01:41am] She's a jar With a heavy lid My pop quiz kid A sleepy kisser A pretty war With feelings hid She begs me not to miss her She says forever To light a fuse We could use A handful of wheel And a day off And a bruised road However, you might feel Tonight is real When I forget how to talk, I sing Won't you please Bring that flash to shine And turn my eyes red Unless they close When you click And my face gets sick Stuck, like a question unposed Just climb aboard The tracks of a train's arm In my fragile family tree And watch me floating inches above The people underneath Please beware the quiet front yard I warned you Before there were water skies I warned you not to drive Dry your eyes, you poor devil Are there really ones like these? The ones I dream Float like leaves And freeze to spread skeleton wings I passed through before I knew you I believe it's just because Daddy's payday is not enough Oh I believe it's all because Daddy's payday is not enough Just climb aboard The tracks of a train's arm In my fragile family tree And watch me floating inches above The people underneath She's a jar With a heavy lid My pop quiz kid A sleepy kisser A pretty war With feelings hid You know she begs me Not to hit her

.The Actor Went to Sleep. [13 Oct 2004|05:21pm] To fuck and to be fucked, he said Well isn't that the precision you read? Partners unravelling to tell this botomless tale Crystal balls trapped between disappearing moments And your eyes will pierce me as the second hand swims When I'm swimming underneath your disconsolate temple And I'm trying to tie your shoes but you keep on walking Tripping and falling into adulthood Your thighs crash against white pavements and you still manage to smile Smiling through a brick of steel You manage to wander into my bedroom each night And method acting has deceased Practical aesthetics, right? What a rank name. I take the deterent since I know better I know you better and your bedroom eyes understand Tossing coins into streams Awaiting the fucking monster to pull you down into a world A world in which you can bulldoze over natural order Asymmetrical shadows marching on the green man's throne Only your perceptions can tell you You shouted, "I don't care I just want last night back" Last night when you felt twelve Home runs that lead you to a ringing applause Don't you foil before daddy The label on your blazer reads, "Hi, I overachieve" And an honest variance between us fell long ago Underneath the footsteps that sang to the Hermitage Circumferencing epilogues, we displayed the mantles upright Cocking your head to the left with that devious strike So expected, but just as much as clear days after the April showers Licking those lips I listen to while carrying magnifying glasses Yes, it's you I've come to nibble Partial incriments that build polaroid jigsaws And you shuffle along in a red car Chocolate milk for the road trip Back and forth I watch you swagger You know that I am pulling your strings Orchestrating your modern dance recital And for a moment, we'll conceal under the pictorial spotlight

.Bright Eyes Lyrics. [13 Oct 2004|03:48pm] ( Read more... )

.A Very Expected Knock at the Front Door. [10 Sep 2004|12:05am] New York City is the perfect enviornment for an anti-social socialite such as myself. It's easy to be perpetually alone underneath chatterboxes and a row of forest green balloons The only sound breaking the unbeareable quiet sanctuary I was leaning against was the honk of a bulky taxi cab I was underneath a stone building, and I could see inside the great open window A 32" flat screen tv, and a man faced the blank wall Things. Things. More things. Distractions. Here I stood holding my literary distractions. How effective it is to bury myself in a tomb of another's words. I don't have to hear myself think my hummingbird thoughts I'll just chuckle and shed a tear, pout and sigh at the author's sideshow No one makes eye contact with me, anyhow. When conversations are carried, I feel as though I am a warrior making my way into the circle Struggling to contribute even if I am the weakest match Maybe these are just selfish, cynical ideas that I painted back in the first grade These gigantic expectations made of the finest silks and rarest gems "1 million dollar homes are pretty boring", I thought, as I checked the score of the football game. Time to walk away. While I waited for 14th Street to flash a white hand reaching out to walk me across the street, I realized how the value of friendship has easily diminished in my priorities I used to feel that it was more than imperative to make sure I made those 9 oclock phone calls I threw my arms around the necks of warm skin But they always LEAVE! All of them. I fled from hurricanes and corrupting humidity, only to find that the beautiful statues arranged near where I used to sit have become far too aroused in their museums Their clock swung its nasty hand around- and those cold, gray piles of concrete forgot its artist Those paintings- those paintings! I was one of those paintings that adhered to flash photographers There beady little eyes pressed against canvases But now, this analogy will take me to the land of used goods Thrift stores, if you want to make the term sound a pinch more sophisticated Sometimes I spot a painting being tossed on the edge of an old woman's yard When she was a little girl- she existed through that painting Eventually, she was bored of the same old image She was groggy when she saw those same, flat colors- the predictable lines- the uneven proportions that should have been spotted years ago And that painting ends up in one of those, yes, "thrift stores" The value forgotten The picture was dead without a fond memory All that remained were scraggly shapes, which at one time were perceived as beautiful I am not made to feel beautiful I never was. That isn't in my game plan- there aren't any directions toward that side of the map I was put here in a snowman's body suit to sit To watch To interpret To analyze But to love? To live? To seize? To win? We're watching a Disney movie, now. Everyone reverses their sentences I must stop here, another goodbye is waiting downstairs. I should see that it is fed.

.Open 24 Hours. [01 Aug 2004|03:37am] Why do I live in this cryptogram? When I say I, I want this to be written to the extent of selfishness. I guess after we toss out the self-loathing towel, we're supposed to believe that we're something of worth. If I drained all the water from inside myself, I can tell you not much would be left. It's so quiet inside of here... Inside of me. Never a peep to disrupt the classroom I always received straigt A's. Sometimes the swarm of wasps inside my brain begs to give birth It's custom, though. To be polite during a freedom march It's really a much larger picture Halloween: July 31, 2004 I'll be damned! It's past midnight, so ahead with the new day! The new month. The new life? I'll stop. Today I dressed myself in a glazed prom dress. The sort of gown a woman in love models to her mirror It's funny, how careless people can be With all of there imposing questions Here I sit at 1:57am. Denny's. Alone. I'm moving in 3 days time, and my phone book has denied my company. I suppose they're sleepy... That must be it, I tell myself. So, here I go with my order of a double boca burger plus cheese I try not to eat those animals because usually I feel more love from the piglets and cows. Judy the waitress just stares with raised eyebrows and asks if I'm sitting in the booth alone "Im sitting in this world alone." Listen to me. I sound like fucking Sylvia Plath. But I won't be like her. No. I won't let them win. I replied with, "Yes" quite matter-of-factly "You're sitting in this big booth all by yourself?" she blurts aloud as she sweeps up the used sugar packets Don't rub it in or anything, lady! "What happens when a group of 6 comes in and wants to sit?" she questions rather impatiently Her small amount of gray hair was distracting me from taking her seriously As if my entire life hasn't felt like enough of an inconvenicnce, I ruin Denny's consistency as well. Imagine that! Fighting back tears and pretending that my chest cold is the only reason I spoke in such a nasal voice, I offer to move. "No," she says. "I'm off soon. Usually I work until 4 or 5, but I'm getting out of here early. I'M SO EXICTED!" Her face lit up the bland colors of my 6-seater booth I smile in assertion. At least one of us feels that cliche understanding of happiness. "Isn't it funny how that could make me so EXCITED?" She asks with a wide grin and a row of yellow. She stocks the sugar packets. I pause for a moment and say, "It's the little things."

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