"otherwise, you'll kill yourself"

i think i'm screaming in a monologue,
and writing in a song

and i think i'm watching with a half-closed eye
and trying not to smile
when you tell me that you are happy;
life needs more happy people
and it needs more sad ones,
too;

they make it feel better to be happy,
and they make it feel better to be happy
and they, and they, and they, they make it feel so much better to be fucking joyful for once

but i think, seriously,
that you should watch the way you look at her;
it'll hurt, man, but
its just you and me
against every fucking thing
and its too late;
so watch out, man. don't fall for her now
or you'll just kill yourself.
otherwise, you'll just kill yourself
____________

and if my heart just stops, keep me alive for a minute. i want to know if a curtain drops

sorry its been so long; i spent the weekend either jamming with jake or not sleeping at leif's. that being said, i want to inform you that, for the first time in a long time, i'm really excited about something. i feel like, for once, this band is going to go somewhere. i don't mean just play a few gigs, and i also don't mean make it big and sell out. i mean to say that maybe, just maybe, we can record an album or a tape or a demo or an EP that WE are happy with, and that one person, just one person, can appreciate for what it is.

in other news, today felt like a La Dispute day. don't ask me why, because i don't know. but,

"its not the petty imperfections that define us, but the way we hold our hearts, and the way we hold our heads; i hope they write your name beside mine on my gravestone when i'm dead. and when we are dead, let our voices carry on, to find a better song and sing along"

So sing along.

how i feel and why it scares me

sometimes i feel like cutting my wrists open and painting a mural with the blood; if there was ever a god, he gave us the most beautiful paint, and made our bodies an art form in themselves. the purpose of the body is to be beautiful; destroy it, paint it, dye it, clothe it however you want; that is your personal masterpiece, and today's society is throwing that away.

in other news, i'm free from the bondage i've felt for the last two years. but i have to say, thanks. i couldn't have asked for a better time, but now its time for me to try and rebuild the bridges you burnt for me, and find the opportunities you hid from me. but i'll be okay. just give me a few months to forget your name.

"goodnight and goodbye, and thanks for the good times"

the intro to my essay on thomas more's 'utopia'


Tort, Franco
Humane Letters 10A
26.8.2010
A State of Nature:
Can the concept of individuality exist in More’s Utopia?
“If this myth is tragic, that is because its hero is conscious. Where would his torture be, indeed, if at every step the hope of succeeding upheld him? The workman of today works everyday in his life at the same tasks, and his fate is no less absurd. But it is tragic only at the rare moments when it becomes conscious. Sisyphus, proletarian of the gods, powerless and rebellious, knows the whole extent of his wretched condition: it is what he thinks of during his descent. The lucidity that was to constitute his torture at the same time crowns his victory. There is no fate that cannot be surmounted by scorn.”
-albert camus' 'the myth of sisyphus'

There is, in all human beings, a degree of consciousness of their ‘human condition’. This is, in part, what makes us all human beings. Without consciousness, we are nothing. Without consciousness, we are automatons. Albert Camus made this clear when writing his essay “The Myth of Sisyphus”. He wrote, “If this is tragic, that is because the hero is conscious. Where would his torture be, indeed, if at every step the hope of succeeding upheld him?”, and in this statement reveals much about the nature of a human being; we only suffer if we recognize our suffering; we only exist if we recognize that we do, and therein is individuality. In the underworld, Sisyphus recognizes his condition; he contemplates it as his rock returns to the base of its hill, but in the suffering brought on by his consciousness also lays his joy; he is human; “All [his] silent joy is contained therein”. In Thomas More’s novel, Utopia, he makes such a concept very clear. The citizens of Utopia do not suffer, because they are made to be happy. They are content simply because they do not know the concept of discontent. Most of all, however, they are content because they have lost their human-ness; they have lost their individuality. The citizens of Utopia are incapable of being individuals.

Swear words are fun, and fitting. I fucking hate bullshit censoring assholes.

in more important news, affection sucks. i hate knowing that no matter what i do, i have an infallible ability to fall for people who will either never feel the same, or forget that i exist sometimes. it drives me insane. and its terrifying, too, knowing that, no matter what, i'm going to be let down. i actually despise love. in the undying words of the blood brothers, it rhymes with hideous car wrecks.

i had an awesome summer, untainted with that emotional bullshit that snowing wants to fuck. and yet, somehow, i managed to fuck it up. and now, i like a girl who is, in a seeming trend, in a relationship with a friend of mine. and, yes, i know, its highschool. but emotions are emotions, and they are what make us, you know, us.

that being said, a poem;

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.

dedicated to my friend. he knows who he is, and if i speak his name, it'd be an injustice to it

long, unrelated titles are for hipsters

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

sorry i missed a day, but

i was too busy partying it up with a bunch of friends at a resort. i'm honored to be part of a group of people like them, that has some sort of metaphysical bond. its actually, though, kind-of humorous; not one of them thinks like i do. my closest few friends can sit with me and talk about religion or philosophy or politics and be completely at home being our hipster countercultural selves, but with these people, i feel like we are family even when they disagree with me for foolish reasons and don't like to even think about politics. just a thought.

anywho, i've got the song filial by Pianos Become the Teeth stuck in my heads. its a beautiful piece of music; reall heartfelt.

Lyrics to Filial :
Too seldom sanguine,
Always crying over closed doors
You should feel like you should,
You should feel like you should adapt well with a wistful heart
I could never take it, but I'll give you your breath back
Infants and whales still have the holes there, never proving to be born on time
You keep your eyes to the light between finger and thumb and the sky just laughs as I Stare at the grass,
The sun, the green, I want the snow years ago
I'll say it about routine
I cant wait, I can't wait
I want the genes
I want the era before me
I want ideas as imprints
I want the future, I want the future
I want your mistakes, what we were, what I was, what I'll be, what we'll see
Hunters only stop to see the scenery when they've caught up,
Watching what we have in common that makes us the men some love
I'm not telling you who the rhythm is from, something to look forward to "while im young"
One day at a time, I'll never say anything when no one is looking
I'll be so old, finally seeing
Picking right days as they come
Learning days said like this
As purses and sheaths