Thursday, October 28, 2010
Aren't I cliche?
I guess I'm writing this to you, even though I doubt you'll ever see it. I know our relationship is in it's infancy, but I enjoy 'this'. I can honestly say that I love being with you, and I cherish the fact that I can talk to you like another human being, and that what we have is both a friendship and more than that. And I don't want that to change. I don't want for it to turn into something superficial or sexual or anything like that. I just want to be able to be close to you. "not fuck, like in those movies. Not even have sex. Just sleep together in the most innocent sense of the word". I know we're nothing yet, but I just thought I'd let you know that I really, truly like 'this', and I'm happy that i found you.
extended metaphor
the grass keeps still time with the wind, flowing like waves of incandescent icy blue black green, or locks of red hair that seem to always feel infinite and eerily lovely; i'm spent now, keeping the beats of rain on rooftops like blood-gold fireflies humming and whispering 'finally'.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
SHIT I NEED TO DO
i can no longer spell "whenever";
its like a mystery you solved in the first four pages,
but then you forgot the answer. i'm too hungry to care,
but the little light in the left hand corner says
"you've wasted another year"
and i can't bring myself to do anything about it.
when do you know you've fucked up?
its like a mystery you solved in the first four pages,
but then you forgot the answer. i'm too hungry to care,
but the little light in the left hand corner says
"you've wasted another year"
and i can't bring myself to do anything about it.
when do you know you've fucked up?
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
saetia
there are no words to describe my love of this band. its beautiful. great musicians, great vocals. the lyrics themselves are beautiful, with the recurring theme (to my eyes) of the darkness of relationships based on sex, and full of wonderfully poetic romantic angst. i fucking wish i could've lived in their era. just to say i met them.
http://www.mediafire.com/?whg2jdd2mjd
http://www.mediafire.com/?whg2jdd2mjd
Monday, October 25, 2010
What the fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu
I'm writing an essay for myself and everyone I've ever loved.
It's called life and it's 100 pages long.
There are no words. Only your names.
But I have to ask you to be understanding.
If your name is there twice, thanks for everything.
It's called life and it's 100 pages long.
There are no words. Only your names.
But I have to ask you to be understanding.
If your name is there twice, thanks for everything.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
im fucking dying to know what keeps you so confident
is it me?
why the fuck do i hate myself?
it has something to do with not knowing when i've lost,
but maybe i can see the planes landing in the afternoon
while i'm laying on the hood of a car and think to myself
"the more we wait"
and i feel completely inadequate again,
because happiness is a disease and there is nothing wrong with
"i miss you" anymore,
and i'm having trouble expressing myself again
like butterfly-quick kisses in the rain on playgrounds
with cars giving off the most beautiful backdrop i could ask for ever,
with a sense of a staring giving off a pretentious need to be alive
and be still, one last time, before our bodies move and quake
like sand in a hurricane,
with ice building little castles in the grass and shouting out
'love is like a wineglass' and no one knowing but me what that meant
and streaming self-expression kills me,
because i love what thinks and breaths.
we are the same, but we're all so fucking different.
can you tell me where you are?
i swear to god, if you're cold, i'll melt away all that fucking snow,
and now i'm perspiring,
where did the rain go?
where are all my semi-colons and commas?
i feel so out of place and it scares me
why the fuck do i hate myself?
it has something to do with not knowing when i've lost,
but maybe i can see the planes landing in the afternoon
while i'm laying on the hood of a car and think to myself
"the more we wait"
and i feel completely inadequate again,
because happiness is a disease and there is nothing wrong with
"i miss you" anymore,
and i'm having trouble expressing myself again
like butterfly-quick kisses in the rain on playgrounds
with cars giving off the most beautiful backdrop i could ask for ever,
with a sense of a staring giving off a pretentious need to be alive
and be still, one last time, before our bodies move and quake
like sand in a hurricane,
with ice building little castles in the grass and shouting out
'love is like a wineglass' and no one knowing but me what that meant
and streaming self-expression kills me,
because i love what thinks and breaths.
we are the same, but we're all so fucking different.
can you tell me where you are?
i swear to god, if you're cold, i'll melt away all that fucking snow,
and now i'm perspiring,
where did the rain go?
where are all my semi-colons and commas?
i feel so out of place and it scares me
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
10 things
First:
I saw 'Waiting For Superman' last night. Although the ideas were generally good, it made me want to cry watching them trash public schools, and disregard the fact that 80% of america still attends them, and not all (or even most, really) are failures in the least. the writers of the film just shot off statistics that looked quite scary, pulling a wonderful job of getting everyone in the theatre up in arms against teachers unions (which was, admittedly, slightly justifiable) using a propaganda machine much more efficient than the one we have in our public schools today. the most concentrated-on statistic was one concerning proficiency in math and reading for 8th graders tested. The directors of this film made it appear that only ~24% (according to this statistic) in each state were proficient in either of these two subjects, as 8th graders. However dire our situation may be, i am willing to stake my left hand that maybe, just maybe, the problem is not in the instruction of the students (for example, i've been in public schools almost my whole life, minus the last three years, and have NEVER experienced such a drastically low number of logical people in my life, ever, that could even compare to what these statistics show), but rather, maybe the problem is in the testing.
Second,
fucking fucking fucking fucking fuck.
i want to go to a fucking art school.
im tired of administrative tyranny.
fuck you, mr biology teacher,
fuck you.
I saw 'Waiting For Superman' last night. Although the ideas were generally good, it made me want to cry watching them trash public schools, and disregard the fact that 80% of america still attends them, and not all (or even most, really) are failures in the least. the writers of the film just shot off statistics that looked quite scary, pulling a wonderful job of getting everyone in the theatre up in arms against teachers unions (which was, admittedly, slightly justifiable) using a propaganda machine much more efficient than the one we have in our public schools today. the most concentrated-on statistic was one concerning proficiency in math and reading for 8th graders tested. The directors of this film made it appear that only ~24% (according to this statistic) in each state were proficient in either of these two subjects, as 8th graders. However dire our situation may be, i am willing to stake my left hand that maybe, just maybe, the problem is not in the instruction of the students (for example, i've been in public schools almost my whole life, minus the last three years, and have NEVER experienced such a drastically low number of logical people in my life, ever, that could even compare to what these statistics show), but rather, maybe the problem is in the testing.
Second,
fucking fucking fucking fucking fuck.
i want to go to a fucking art school.
im tired of administrative tyranny.
fuck you, mr biology teacher,
fuck you.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Sunday, October 17, 2010
i've realized i write about blake's car a lot.
nowhere is like the space between the couch and the wall.
its the place where memories (like little toys, and maps to friends houses and playing cards) like to hide and make you feel nostalgic and sick to your stomach laughing
(with the best intentions, always)
its like the buddy system and inside jokes that no one remembers but you,
and its like when he tells you to put your arm around her,
then holds your hand when you walk into lonely little restaurants
in lonely little towns
feeling perfectly content
and not alone at all.
i think nowhere just might mean love.
its the place where memories (like little toys, and maps to friends houses and playing cards) like to hide and make you feel nostalgic and sick to your stomach laughing
(with the best intentions, always)
its like the buddy system and inside jokes that no one remembers but you,
and its like when he tells you to put your arm around her,
then holds your hand when you walk into lonely little restaurants
in lonely little towns
feeling perfectly content
and not alone at all.
i think nowhere just might mean love.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
setlist for the show tomorrow.
1.Instrumental song
2.long titles are for hipster fucks
Lyrics:
its like creaking unplugged ferris wheels
to climb like autumn memories at night,
and get wasted, toss miracles off the side
and its like hearing
"get with the program"
"get your grades up";
failed expectations mean the same to me
(not one of them means anything, unless its mine i've failed)
so lets smoke up, and remember the intensity
of flashing lights, and friends, and tears, and booze
and how the memories were enough to keep us here
and its like spending the night at a friends; the word is disconcerting,
like "moms gone, and dads fucked up again"
or like holding hands in the backseat and looking for a star
or memories of wilted flowers, driving down arlington avenue
and its like saying "lets go to the beach" in winter,
casting empty glass into the sea
and hearing waves crash on the sand in waves,
because waves crash on the sand in waves.
and its like all the friends i've fucked up,
and its like all the times i've fucked up
and while i'm tired of writing love songs,
its still like typing "i miss you"
but never pressing send
but never pressing send
and its like walking home at night
maybe kinsella can keep me company;
i'm late, i'm tired, and i'm dying inside,
and i can't remember what it it felt to be alive,
and, oh my god, the music won't stop,
and neither will those headlights
3. The One Wherein There’s A Big Twist pt. 2
Lyrics: too lazy to post. NVM.
4.Jake’s Spoken Word
I spend my time nowadays contemplating the happenings of this past year.
My old love/loss, and my new. I don't know who I am, and I'm lost, and I'm angry.
Constantly evolving and changing, is just tiring to say the least.
I've talked of change for the better, but nothing ever happens. That's Me I guess.
I can't keep a heart. I barely know what it is.But still, I lay awake at night, beating myself up over insignificant things, that slowly, build up.
I beat myself up over your heart.
And her heart.
And everyone else.
I want to help, but nothing ever changes
That's just me I guess.
But noW
I am so afraid
I am terrified
Don't leave me alone
Im no one without my friends
Please don't leave me alone
5. My Spoken Word
Lyrics:
remember when you were a kid, and someone told you that rain was god crying, and now you're all grown up and god isn't real and now rain is just you crying, and its just blurring up my windshield, and then its her crying, and its her asking me if i could still see the rave lights and feel the hurricanes and hear the kids playing tag outside of little trinket shops on a city island street that nobody knows the name for (and even if they did, they could never pronounce it), and then i realized that she wasn't here anymore (its just the road and you and i) and then i saw it in the headlights on the sidewalk (a little silhouette with earphones in and too stoned to notice me or care if he did) but we were too drunk and we were too tired and we just couldn't bring ourselves to care anymore than when we slid on the ice on Lane and probably took out that woman with her son in the backseat, going a little too fast? because i do.
6. Spoken Word/Screaming Monologue
Monologue:
i don't believe that there is anything beyond this. i believe in nothing but humankind and our ability to adapt and change for the better. i believe in the love that i hold for other people. i believe in three hours spent sitting on a park-bench or up in a playground. i believe in sitting in a friend's car, driving the speed-limit because that is who we are. i believe in staying up all night and talking about meaningless things, and solving the world's problems while we do. i believe in coffee, in tea, in the rocky horror picture show, and in bad poetry that still can make me cry. and because of that, i am no longer afraid of dying. because i have experienced such a fucking wonderful life. i could ask for nothing more.
i fucking love my friends.
7. 10.12.1994
Lyrics:
October 12, 1994
i think i like the feeling of rain more than rain;
its the atmosphere that makes it real
and its the ambiance, and the leaves it brings;
life is made from leaves on trees that fall on streets in towns i grew up in.
and its my stupid fuckups,
and its my songs, my poems, my sketches,
its the things i make that make me alive
or maybe, its me that makes the things i make alive.
either way, they keep me up at night.
but most of all,
its my friends who keep me going,
its them who make
"im upset, man"
more than stupid words
and its me,
and its you,
and its them
and its everything in-between
but most of all,
its you.
so thank you, friend,
for being there,
and thank you, friend,
for being just that.
thank you for being.
i love you.
2.long titles are for hipster fucks
Lyrics:
its like creaking unplugged ferris wheels
to climb like autumn memories at night,
and get wasted, toss miracles off the side
and its like hearing
"get with the program"
"get your grades up";
failed expectations mean the same to me
(not one of them means anything, unless its mine i've failed)
so lets smoke up, and remember the intensity
of flashing lights, and friends, and tears, and booze
and how the memories were enough to keep us here
and its like spending the night at a friends; the word is disconcerting,
like "moms gone, and dads fucked up again"
or like holding hands in the backseat and looking for a star
or memories of wilted flowers, driving down arlington avenue
and its like saying "lets go to the beach" in winter,
casting empty glass into the sea
and hearing waves crash on the sand in waves,
because waves crash on the sand in waves.
and its like all the friends i've fucked up,
and its like all the times i've fucked up
and while i'm tired of writing love songs,
its still like typing "i miss you"
but never pressing send
but never pressing send
and its like walking home at night
maybe kinsella can keep me company;
i'm late, i'm tired, and i'm dying inside,
and i can't remember what it it felt to be alive,
and, oh my god, the music won't stop,
and neither will those headlights
3. The One Wherein There’s A Big Twist pt. 2
Lyrics: too lazy to post. NVM.
4.Jake’s Spoken Word
I spend my time nowadays contemplating the happenings of this past year.
My old love/loss, and my new. I don't know who I am, and I'm lost, and I'm angry.
Constantly evolving and changing, is just tiring to say the least.
I've talked of change for the better, but nothing ever happens. That's Me I guess.
I can't keep a heart. I barely know what it is.But still, I lay awake at night, beating myself up over insignificant things, that slowly, build up.
I beat myself up over your heart.
And her heart.
And everyone else.
I want to help, but nothing ever changes
That's just me I guess.
But noW
I am so afraid
I am terrified
Don't leave me alone
Im no one without my friends
Please don't leave me alone
5. My Spoken Word
Lyrics:
remember when you were a kid, and someone told you that rain was god crying, and now you're all grown up and god isn't real and now rain is just you crying, and its just blurring up my windshield, and then its her crying, and its her asking me if i could still see the rave lights and feel the hurricanes and hear the kids playing tag outside of little trinket shops on a city island street that nobody knows the name for (and even if they did, they could never pronounce it), and then i realized that she wasn't here anymore (its just the road and you and i) and then i saw it in the headlights on the sidewalk (a little silhouette with earphones in and too stoned to notice me or care if he did) but we were too drunk and we were too tired and we just couldn't bring ourselves to care anymore than when we slid on the ice on Lane and probably took out that woman with her son in the backseat, going a little too fast? because i do.
6. Spoken Word/Screaming Monologue
Monologue:
i don't believe that there is anything beyond this. i believe in nothing but humankind and our ability to adapt and change for the better. i believe in the love that i hold for other people. i believe in three hours spent sitting on a park-bench or up in a playground. i believe in sitting in a friend's car, driving the speed-limit because that is who we are. i believe in staying up all night and talking about meaningless things, and solving the world's problems while we do. i believe in coffee, in tea, in the rocky horror picture show, and in bad poetry that still can make me cry. and because of that, i am no longer afraid of dying. because i have experienced such a fucking wonderful life. i could ask for nothing more.
i fucking love my friends.
7. 10.12.1994
Lyrics:
October 12, 1994
i think i like the feeling of rain more than rain;
its the atmosphere that makes it real
and its the ambiance, and the leaves it brings;
life is made from leaves on trees that fall on streets in towns i grew up in.
and its my stupid fuckups,
and its my songs, my poems, my sketches,
its the things i make that make me alive
or maybe, its me that makes the things i make alive.
either way, they keep me up at night.
but most of all,
its my friends who keep me going,
its them who make
"im upset, man"
more than stupid words
and its me,
and its you,
and its them
and its everything in-between
but most of all,
its you.
so thank you, friend,
for being there,
and thank you, friend,
for being just that.
thank you for being.
i love you.
untitled
do you ever have those moments when you feel like you should just sit down and write, and nothing else matters in the whole world? i do. but then again, i still feel meaningless when i do. its the absence of inspiration that does it, because my inspiration is myself, and i am so fucking insignificant. but i still have to do it. because i love it.
'being' is the greatest gift anyone can ask for. all things stem from that. if i 'weren't', who would i be? and what, then, would make me, well, 'me'? the answer 'isn't'. but since i am (since everyone 'is'), what makes us, well, 'us'? i can tell you that ten-thousand times and still feel legitimate each and every one. its the people we love that define who we really are. there is no standard by which to define a man save the one by which he judges others; love, in its simplest form, is the measure of all things. if you don't love, you simply 'aren't'. whether its an abstract 'god' you love, or just the people around you, the fact that you 'love' is what makes you something other than just 'homo sapiens'. Love makes us 'human'.
and, being the terribly cliche person that i often am, i love the world.
i don't believe that there is anything beyond this. i believe in nothing but humankind and our ability to adapt and change for the better. i believe in the love that i hold for other people. i believe in three hours spent sitting on a park-bench or up in a playground. i believe in sitting in a friend's car, driving the speed-limit because that is who we are. i believe in staying up all night and talking about meaningless things, and solving the world's problems while we do. i believe in coffee, in tea, in the rocky horror picture show, and in bad poetry that still can make me cry. and because of that, i am no longer afraid of dying. because i have experienced such a fucking wonderful life. i could ask for nothing more.
i fucking love my friends.
'being' is the greatest gift anyone can ask for. all things stem from that. if i 'weren't', who would i be? and what, then, would make me, well, 'me'? the answer 'isn't'. but since i am (since everyone 'is'), what makes us, well, 'us'? i can tell you that ten-thousand times and still feel legitimate each and every one. its the people we love that define who we really are. there is no standard by which to define a man save the one by which he judges others; love, in its simplest form, is the measure of all things. if you don't love, you simply 'aren't'. whether its an abstract 'god' you love, or just the people around you, the fact that you 'love' is what makes you something other than just 'homo sapiens'. Love makes us 'human'.
and, being the terribly cliche person that i often am, i love the world.
i don't believe that there is anything beyond this. i believe in nothing but humankind and our ability to adapt and change for the better. i believe in the love that i hold for other people. i believe in three hours spent sitting on a park-bench or up in a playground. i believe in sitting in a friend's car, driving the speed-limit because that is who we are. i believe in staying up all night and talking about meaningless things, and solving the world's problems while we do. i believe in coffee, in tea, in the rocky horror picture show, and in bad poetry that still can make me cry. and because of that, i am no longer afraid of dying. because i have experienced such a fucking wonderful life. i could ask for nothing more.
i fucking love my friends.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
something long and irrelevant like all the other titles
there is nothing on my ceiling but a fan and a dead-end looking down on me and what i left outside because i was too scared, and she was too hot and i was too weak and she too bold, and she had a boyfriend and i was all alone and everything was still in its sad little place (but her, as it turns out)
this was inspired by a passage from John Green's "looking for alaska"
this was inspired by a passage from John Green's "looking for alaska"
Saturday, October 9, 2010
heey, man. peace, and shit. and, like, love one another, you know?
i love when my teachers make fun of me. i spent a class taking (good humored) shit about being a total hippie. made my day. in other news, life is fragile and the bonds we have can be broken with the tension of the littlest tug. so hold on to them as tight as you can, because otherwise, at the end of the day, you've got shit to your name. no matter how much money or power or sex you have, your life will fucking suck. be a man.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
wait, what.
i have not forgotten you
but you've forgotten that.
and i've never felt better
than under a downpour of you
(under a storm with 4 letters in its name)
with clouds of idioms and idiosyncrasies
leaving me open like a casket
and hanging like the convict
in the appletree
but wait. there's more.
but you've forgotten that.
and i've never felt better
than under a downpour of you
(under a storm with 4 letters in its name)
with clouds of idioms and idiosyncrasies
leaving me open like a casket
and hanging like the convict
in the appletree
but wait. there's more.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
"and there's nothing stronger than her prayer, nothing stronger than the smell of reds; my father's reds"
don't blame yourself, for anything. and don't blame the world either. life is beautiful. life is fucking gorgeous. i love you. all of you. thank you so fucking much for making it all worth living, yeah? i want to drive around anthem with all of you in a car a little too late at night with no more room in the backseat for the rest of my life.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
as a reminder, nothing matters anymore, so shut the fuck up and keep on living like we have been
remember when you were a kid, and someone told you that rain was god crying, and now you're all grown up and god isn't real and now rain is just you crying, and its just blurring up my windshield, and then its her crying, and its her asking me if i could still see the rave lights and feel the hurricanes and hear the kids playing tag outside of little trinket shops on a city island street that nobody knows the name for (and even if they did, they could never pronounce it), and then i realized that she wasn't here anymore (its just the road and you and i) and then i saw it in the headlights on the sidewalk (a little silhouette with earphones in and too stoned to notice me or care if he did) but we were too drunk and we were too tired and we just couldn't bring ourselves to care anymore than when we slid on the ice on Lane and probably took out that woman with her son in the backseat, going a little too fast? because i do.
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