mumm-ra: she's got you high

500 days of summer.

stupidstupid love movie thing.

now i am desperately inspired.

set daydreaming to full speed.

set the vast spaces between my ears

and eyes to utter blue and blackness.

bright lights.

violent lashes.

tickticktick my skin from now till then.

my lips and hands.

a grand orchestra of misunderstanding.

out of time but inside the lines.

whatever.

radiohead: let down

are you alone?

i hear you're this sad, sad song.

and what is dying in your eyes

i've been looking for all my life.

pedro the lion: options

odd glances from the 6 sisters dressed in dresses

that just walked into the library with matching jackets.

maybe because i am oddly glancing myself.

i've been moving forwards lately.

onwards and over and through:

as soft pulsings against my hollowness, echo inside me.

i want my eyes. widened. like the ring of a bell.

ears opened like a burned down house.

i am drifting through a wall of sound.

too loud to hear. too quiet too feel.

bleh.

bright eyes: ship in a bottle

i don't like him. honestly.

i really don't. mostly disgusted.

but she does, love him, i suppose.

and this is where the wedge divided.

split. oceaned. transatlanticized.

here, now, in this moment. i let go.

and kindasorta disperse into the scenery.

a tree. a rock. a sidewalk. a driveway.

"losing a whole year"

i triangulate and measure.

three corners, three sides to this instant.

couldshouldwould

havehadwill

i forget. to regret. to be upset.

finally, my faulty memory can be used for something

other than repeated trips back into the house and

locking myself out of my car.

dashboard confessional: the shade of poison trees

i can't write the songs in my mind.

i mean, the concepts are rushing.

beauty. i breathe through the hole it left in me.

oh, my. but to put it to song. to lyric.

i falter. i can't say it. i can't speak it. the honesty.

i want to write something. amazing.

tazlena and i talked friday.

she spent the night, and talked

me to sleep. as always.

thats what i want to write about.

that. there. something. that means everything.

a mild conversation while diamond shards

sweep over and under us. slicing the air

as shimmering seconds.

i want this to stick in my skin.

lodged. scabbed.

to catch my veins and grow old with me.

grow cold with me.

grow small and dull.

beating with hope.

pulsing with discourse.

fading with grace.

a welcomed wound.

broken social scene: shoreline

going to hawaii. as of yesterday. everything makes less sense.

i have an end point. an amazing goal. besides urban outfitter sales clothing

that i order in the mail. this is huge and $750.

but i hope that it will be worth it. so much so.

list of things to bring:

1. camera
2. light flannels
3. the only two pairs of pants i own
4. cut off shorts
5. toiletries
6. sunglasses
7. what little money i have left
8. Arics birthday present
9. ipod & headphones
10. molskine
11. two crew necks 2 v necks
12. a brand new pack of fine ballpoints
13. maybe a pencil
14. my infinite supply of 'maybes'.

copeland: what cannot be found pt. 1

man.

halloween.

i mostly did homework, played cards with my sister

practiced the songs, and then went to the show.

our set was at 1030, which was made bearable

by Beruit and Modest Mouse cover bands.

my voice is almost back to normal. not really.

i hope i can find photos or even a video of us saturday.

copeland slices through my skull.

copeland paints crystals on my fingers.

copeland perferates my shoulders and knees.

copeland is the distance from my soul to my skin.

copeland is just a band.

but nothing is really as clear as my mind right now listening.