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.
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