this is where we look for things
02.05.02 - 10:53
lately people's failed attempts at humor have been excruciatingly painful for me.
long ago i skipped a (free) deathcab for cutie show and a (cheap) ben harper show because i was just too sad. trish murphy and lucy kaplansky are coming into town on the same night. i am raw inside. i am scared of the way i feel sometimes.
listening to when the stars go blue and lorena one after the other after the other. i'll follow you. they're gonna dance on your grave. last night in a dream i drove a truck that flipped and rolled four times. i managed to emerge unscathed and we didn't tell the insurance. the truck went up in flames ten minutes after i'd gotten out and we made jokes about roasting marshmallows but we had none. i forget who 'we' constituted. there is a lot of fantastic music coming to the bay area. let's all hope i find a job that allows me to attend some of these fabulous shows. guided by voices, preston school of industry, for stars, and ryan adams all on the same night. too bad they're playing different clubs.
lonesome and suffocated all at once. trying to breathe. trying to choke. trying to wipe the clouds from my eyes. nick cave and the bad seeds. pedro the lion. i am listening to the same two songs over and over and over again. gene loves jezebel at justice league. my brain is rusting over. my mouth is rusting shut. my throat is so dry. modest mouse. gorky's zygotic mynci. i learned two new words today and both of them were ugly.
i'm not talking to him or him or her we're all just listening and maybe learning to love. i've never been to cleveland, i've never been to kentucky. my stomach is tied in knots and you are so many miles away. i miss the ocean and the way it holds you. i want to be alone and i want you to carry me there. i am unsure.
10 bucks to see gorky's zygotic mynci. the great advantage of indie music.
i want to open my hands and have the cranes come flying out. i want you to know that honesty and lies aren't the only registers we speak in. am i coming back tomorrow? i don't know. i am tripping over memories and bookmarks. i am here, i am on a concrete bench by the bay, i am at segaworld in piccadilly square if that's even where it was.
you shift so slightly when the sun gets in your eyes. you would be wonderful to paint. she can't sit still for the digital camera. i can't paint. the capital letters always looked like they were screaming at you, they were always screaming at me too, i understand. we know all the rules, we are suckers for aesthetics. we love music and we don't like to name things. when we went north(west) for a few days we saw the leaves turning on piles of trees, scattered on the hillsides. this is autumn, she said. it was another painting that might have been. he got tired on the bus and then sleepy and missed everything alive around us. but he woke up for more bricks, more concrete, more empty monochrome space. i slept, fitfully, with the window open and neon buzzing outside the window. it was either too warm or too cold, always. i read john ashbery poems and faulkner short stories in the almost dark. you painted your toenails. he drank. we didn't care but then we never did. you wanted me to call her. i wanted to cry. it got dark and the buzzing and the cold and the emptiness without a name, it all came rushing in. she could never think of names for fictional characters. she wanted them to be real. i named them and she frowned and they weren't real anymore and it was all over and i felt like shit. he slept some more. she would have painted him but she didn't know how. you forgot your paints. i spent my free time searching for a decently tuned piano. we found one with a locked cover, a lost key. we ran out of luck. he never believed in it anyway. we were always so few but it felt like more. it fell away from us. we branded ourselves in secret and hid body parts under the bed. all you wanted was a love so simple. all she wanted was a love that didn't have to choose. all i wanted was to grow young by the ocean and die before the tide came in at night. he made lots of charts. i kissed him once or twice and hung the charts on my naked walls. she downloaded 13 sparklehorse tracks and kept 4. she downloaded the entire nelly furtado album and kept 2 tracks. i laughed at you and your funny glasses. you pulled my hair and threw m&m's down my shirt. you laughed and i was still laughing and i miss the sound of us, laughing, together.
