| (no subject) |
[Apr. 10th, 2008|05:36 am] |
High above the world with bayonets affixed to ankles
you're a brave boy,
Now cut off your hands and i'll sing hallelueja
And two or three old eulogies will never bring him back to you or me,
So i'll be the flame while you build him an altar,
i think we've got something here
Behind your eyes the sea flows freely, a testament of god and he,
infused with such intensity, im such a wreckless man
the sun will burst with energy; a requiem for wings so wide and stately
and may these trees and leaves pass on the words of moses, "here lies the father"
my love and my mother were taken as ransom, they'll be where we want them to be in a moment
ghosts hug the coast of normandy, these bayonets they hurt so nicely
cut flesh and bone with faith and see, the man i shall become to be
you be the moon, i'll be the sea, the notion never dies
they throw these stones with such conviction, the pain it has such binding friction
actions are always such contradictictions, the stories feel the same
So turn and when the glass is clear, the sky's so red and blue out here
so i'll sing a song of seven pence, the arguments and accidents,
we're straddling a magic fence of truth and fantasy
so i'll cut the vocal chords of fate, her song stopped short of heaven's gate,
im sorry but youre much too late, our love will never die
but cry your eyes out, and kiss the ring
of faith and all impoverished things, the sadness that your freedom brings
the world is still the same.
So i'll be the boat, you'll be the light, guide our wreckless love tonight
into the depths of cold respite, and restless infancy
"be born again" the priest will cry, as thousands here are sent to die
and loves are lost, the sinners plight; we sing the tragedy, screaming:
"LIAR, i never asked you to be my
Destroyer, but you did what you had to do
So I will be the sun, and you will be the church bells ringing, and they're singing
Coward, you never asked to be my
Traitor, but you did what you had to do
So i will be the wind,
And you will be the convict swingin" |
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| Where The Wild Things Are. |
[Nov. 13th, 2007|02:10 am] |
| [ | Current Location |
| | 4.0.7. | ] |
| [ | mood |
| |  content | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Play Radio Play | ] |
Well, while it may seem a bit hasty or rash, i guess i'm getting rid of this journal. It seems that while i still have things to write, thoughts to ponder, and plenty of questions that i may never answer, most of these things are dealt with in time. And while i never said that i could solve these problems my own way, i suppose the time has come to stop hiding these bits and pieces of what makes me human, what makes me myself. The only way to know is to experience, and while these dreams and memories often take flight behind those tinted shades of fate, chance, or probability, i find that the only thing to do, is to run this gauntlet and take my chances.
To everyone i have ever known, loved, or simply met and chatted with: This is our day. And with all these tales of twisted fate, i hope we someday meet again; to come alive once more in the prescence of each other's company. This is risk, this is folly, this is it. |
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| From The Great North Woods. |
[Sep. 22nd, 2007|12:31 pm] |
| [ | music |
| | Trespassers William. | ] |
One day everything will make sense to me, will work out somehow, and when that happens i'll breathe such a fucking sigh of relief that my lungs just might collapse.
I've been here in orlando for over a month now. Its funny thinking that i actually escaped the madness that was boca raton. But it doesn't make missing the people i love any easier. Sometimes when im awake late (pretty much EVERY night) i wonder what its like back home. I know its really not so far away, but when you can't just give someone a call to hang out, or meet up at starbucks to jam out and chat with the regulars, the distance seems a bit more intmidating.
Ive never been much of a person to talk a lot about myself to friends. Im not really sure why, but now that they're gone and i don't get to see them on the regular, i feel that maybe isolation wasn't the best decision. Not physically of course, i mean the isolated sense of personality, the fact that most of my friends know less about me than they really know. I don't mean to be that way, its just a force of habit, i suppose. But things have changed, and now im playing the cards i've been dealt, but i really do wish i had that one person to tell whatever in the world i wanted, just to know that they honestly gave a shit, you know? i mean, my greatest fear has always been being forgotten. I put so much of myself into everything that i know, everything that i do, but that being said, i feel like i have to hide bits of it away. Leaving points of weakness is a good way of getting hurt, and i fancy myself a way to play this game without getting burned. Which of course, is impossible in every practical sense.
I met a girl last night. She's pretty cute in the standard sense of the term. Generally speaking, this sort of thing has never been my forte, so naturally when things go well, i tend to get concerned. i'd give a description, but that would be a bit too tragically cliche' for my liking, so you'll just have to use your imagination. But, if you do care enough to construct an image with this much guesswork, be sure to fill in the empty bits with a strong will, a head ridiculously full with every possible bit of knowledge, and a quick wit; all of which combine to create something of an opportunity. Yes, if there were ever such a person to fit my own mental projection of the person i'd see myself into, she would be the ideal.
One day though, i guess something good will have to happen. I just have to put in the time, you see? And when it does my dear, you'll be the first to know. |
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| The Science Of... |
[Aug. 10th, 2007|05:35 pm] |
Sound travels slower than an abstract thought, but faster than a bullet speeding once the collision's been caught on film, or bits of canvas bleeding from ink-stained sheets.
(the lyrics spoken for the audience will keep them melting for weeks)
And gravity reverberates through our growing need for chaos, new buildings spring up on paper, and mother nature is lost. (loss= a lack of air) hands run through her strands of hair as the lamplight shines around the edges of her profile.
And yeah, it'll take a while for the physics to accept the sort of contact we're keeping quiet like all those secrets we've kept. But before long, we'll be nestled like anxious lovers on vacationing days, of all the things the teachers and scholars will praise, ignorance will truly bring us the best of bliss, evident from that old photograph the night that we kissed; upon leaving the dank and smelly atmosphere of...
(damn, what the hell's the name of that place?)
But i clearly remember cherishing the look on your face, as we combined under a streetlight in molecular space, my hands calmly navigating all the routes on your waist. And somehow I convinced you it was all up to fate; after i stole the show from you, I figured that you would wait up for me in your apartment where we would drink to a toast- Hey- if you could kiss a perfect stranger you could sleep with a ghost. And yeah, i know i planned ahead, but really- what could i do? Cause all of us are bloody sinners- my sin was caring for you.
I'm certain all the scientists and physics majors concur that gravity will bring you back to me, at least thats what i heard. And no, I swear I wouldn't lie, you kinda have to believe, so close your eyes and just relax, and please remmember to breathe. |
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| Fuck. |
[Jul. 14th, 2007|07:47 pm] |
So i've finally come to the conclusion that life is just a timebomb, and the sooner it explodes, the better.
Something even in the remote vicinity of being moderately decent happen, please? |
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| Okay.... |
[Jul. 9th, 2007|01:32 am] |
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flip shits now. |
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| In Friends We Trust. |
[Jul. 5th, 2007|03:00 am] |
She's living through my memory, she'll never be forgot, by name. |
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| (no subject) |
[May. 7th, 2007|01:56 am] |
They call it tunnel vision. Eyesight limited to the bare minimum, no periperal aids, no cornersight, just a straightaway towards that one picture playing across your horizon. Sportscasters speak of it often, observing athletes as they concentrate on nothing but the ball or end zone. Drivers get it when they've been traveling long distances at high speeds. Hunters and snipers see it through a scope.
Me? I get it all the time.
My life has become nothing more than a succession of streetlights and cigarettes; traveling nowhere fast but its taking oh so long. The myriad of responsibilities on my plate no longer exist, they have filtered into a future-tense existence with no intention on arriving in present time. Depression is no longer a feeling, it is merely a state of being. And yet, i'm not sad, nor am i angry. No, this is more of a cynical, sardonic habit of life which never seems to change, save minor nuances that i would hardly notice or care to remmember anyway. And yet the days go on; seasons change (as much as they could in this subtropical climate) and times and dates cycle their way through my calender, announced by nothing more than subtle ticks of clocks and moving hands, watches and schedules never fazed me, you see. Time and i seem to have parted ways, going our separate paths, only to meet awkwardly when we least expect it, and then we do our business and show ourselves the door.
Moving to orlando seems like the best available option now. Its a shame that i can't take some things with me (or some people) but perhaps thats the way things should stay. One thing is certain; whatever i came here in search of does not reside here, and the longer i stay in this city, the longer it will elude me. There have been good times, and there have been bad ones. Most will be forgotten. The few that i remmember will help send me in the right direction. I have come to the conclusion that anything i go about from here on out will either be in preparation for the things to come, or they will be meaningless and futile. Those things that are futile will be discarded and i will accept that there are some things that some people should not have, for whatever reason. I accept this truth, and move on with my life as if it never happened. Why should i bother running into brick walls?
Even the thought of meeting new people or rekindling old friendships seems futile to me. If i wasn't a friend to you before, it wasn't because i wasn't willing, it was because it wasn't meant to be at the time. Strong words for one who chastises fatalists, but truth is truth. But this much will be said; there are so many of you who i've met and seen and perhaps even accompanied throughout various moments of my life here. and out of you all, there are so many of you that i wished could have been closer to me. I wanted to know so much about so many of you. But that connection was never made. And thats okay. I wish you well, still. And perhaps we will meet again in the years to come, and who is to say that we might not become the dearest of friends then? But for the moment, i am spent, and i am done wasting my time trying to make something out of what apparently is nothing.
But don't fret, loves. Its not as bad as it seems. I'll remmember you until my memory shorts out, as i hope you would do in my place. If i forget you, im sorry, it wasn't on purpose. Perhaps you'll remind me? I hope you will.
After all, we're only human...
Right? |
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| (no subject) |
[Apr. 26th, 2007|02:21 am] |
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no one to talk to for now, so i'll take out whatever frustration i have at life and fate and the world as we know it out on you. |
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| Angels And Their Astronauts |
[Apr. 24th, 2007|04:09 am] |
Theres so many simple subtleties i can hear you say right now,
but all the flaws and the difficulties filter your voice out.
we're less like poets, more like astronauts
under these city lights,
gravity's all we've got to keep us in circulation,
these stars have us by our eyes
and if this is love, then we are lost in deep space,
where is my exit, all of this is coming down
and where are you, you're breaking up in this distance you see,
but yeah its fine, and i'm alright, just totally free. |
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| (no subject) |
[Apr. 19th, 2007|01:29 am] |
I've come to the point where all of my patience has finally been whittled away to nothing more than a fine point, about as sharp as a needle's point, and now that bitter end is slightly poking me, tracing my spine and rubbing against my ribcage, almost as if to tell me that something is terribly and horribly wrong, and that if i don't fix it soon enough, i'll end up getting stuck, with a sharp pain and a gut full of blood.
and to top it off, i no longer have anything to say. I have no real ideas or thoughts that mean anything to me anymore. which isn't really the case, but i definately have no way of expressing the things that im thinking right now. i don't know how to go about explaining it, but out of sheer boredom and frustration, i'll attempt starting now...
here's a thought:
I am lost, i am lonely, and i am tired.
now, take that sentence, read it, and try to figure out what it is thats going through my head right now. it shouldn't be too hard to read in between these two lines, should it? i mean come on, its only ten words. grammatically correct. no cliche's or metaphors, just a straight sentence. and yet in my brain there are about two or three million thoughts attached to this sentence, so many unused words and distant abstractions anchored to this catalyst, and the moment the words slip out of this mouth and into the airspace, the chemicals start flowing, erupting from every pore of my being like a dam breaking, flowing over everything i see or hear or touch or feel, and then its all over like a sudden calm in a hurricane. i am stepping into the eye of a worldwide storm, and in the midst of it all, i am broken, i am tired, i am spent, so drained that i can do nothing but slowly drift off into open water and wait for the sea to take me. Only it never does. i just drift and drift until there is nothing but me and a thought again and should i dare to speak the words that will subsequently form, i will once again be caught up into the hellfire that is my conscience.
the english language has failed me in the most tragic way, in an inevitable way. And thats just the tip of that particular iceberg.
Goodnight. |
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| Memoirs Of Summers Past. |
[Apr. 12th, 2007|01:18 am] |
each day we live our lives trapped under this thin veneer,
and i've kept strong enough to breath in this atmosphere.
and every day your body just gets weaker, could this be the
dream we had in mind?
lets hold our breath, say our prayers and go back in time.
just rewind... and we'll playback when we were young.
remmember when we used to pray for rain and it would come?
we'd sit indoors and just read our books til it was done
the television was on, we'd never notice, cause i had my eyes on you.
our favorite songs would play over your father's radio.
just rewind... and i'll play you my favorite song
but my position was much too shaky, i could break you, you could hate me,
either way i wasn't crazy just... confused....
Can you hear me on this clouded day,
How i loved your laugh, your smile i loved your name
still carved in that treebranch, where i should have
kissed you in the rain.
But before this is over I just have to say
I'll be here for you, Im the roses on your grave
I couldnt save you but, i wish to God i had. |
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| (no subject) |
[Apr. 8th, 2007|02:10 am] |
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Its so appropriate, the way we magnify these lights and sounds. |
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| (no subject) |
[Apr. 6th, 2007|01:55 am] |
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There are moments in life when you just know that you don't know anything at all. |
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| (no subject) |
[Apr. 1st, 2007|12:42 am] |
You may not believe this, but i tried so fucking hard to save you.
after prom, we're through. |
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| (no subject) |
[Mar. 31st, 2007|05:57 pm] |
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Fuck it. Im going to sleep. |
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| Here Goes Nothing... |
[Mar. 27th, 2007|12:08 am] |
A shot in the dark, sure.
But i damn sure hope it works out.
:\ |
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| (no subject) |
[Mar. 14th, 2007|11:17 pm] |
This week's been hectic. I'd enjoy a little sleep, but if i wasn't doing all of this i'd probably have found some cliff to practice my theory of gravitational defiance off of or something.
I was about to write something that's been bugging me lately, but i think making the decision to write it made it reaally obscure, and now its not bugging me. Thats so odd.
I met this new kid at work. His names Gary. Odd kid, but i love talking to him. He has this habit of being super technical in everyday conversation and he stresses semantics like no tommorrow, but i like it, its something new, even though it bugs the shit out of everyone else. I like random people. He's coming to the Dot-X show on saturday, so i'd better get started on practicing the drum patterns, which would be hard because Zac has YET to give me the set list.
Im finding that working with other musicians is getting less and less attractive the more projects i start. Everything's so disorganized and so far the only band im having fun with is Visitor Q with jordan and eitan, and im not really doing anything in that but writing lyrics and singing them. At least its something i can control, i guess. But i don't know. I have this really cool idea in mind for some of my stuff, but it involves bringing in other artists to help me out. I don't know if im that good yet, and i have my own reserves about asking other people to help me with my own stuff. I don't really plan on it going anywhere, so why should they bother? And its not like i'm just going to, you know, start playing my own shows. I only have say, 6 songs. And i like them lots. Especially angels and their masters. But i have this thing where if i do them and people like them, then i feel like i'll miss the flaws and mistakes and think that i'm better than i am. I'd hate to have such an ego. And thats why all this stuff worries me. Do i not like what im doing with other people because i think i could do better? Or because my ego's taking over? i hope not. It wasn't a problem before. I just like making stuff that i can record and play back. It'll never sound how i want it to unless i have my own studio. And thats expensive for a college kid who needs to pay for gas and insurance and life and other things that we should never have to pay for.
My brain hurts from deciphering its own staggered trains of thought.
Goodnight. |
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this_way_out's journal