1. |
the twenty
03:23
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every poster i hung up in my room is piled next to my bed. i'll rip off all the sheets real soon. i won't have a place to rest my head. it's a strange type of clutter, stumbling over cardboard boxes. let it come up to my gills. i'll swan dive right into the leaves i'm never raking. a dog with its tail between its legs needs a home to scamper back to. there are no rocks to crawl under; no spider holes to seek refuge. how many will you swallow in your sleep tonight. i hope they don't creep into your dreams. eight legs crawling into bed. eight eyes just trying to find sleep. so train your throat to scream at the storms.
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2. |
hemlock society
02:08
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voice 1:"goodbye puget sound and the little boy who it's safe to say never wanted me around."
voice 2:"but i do."
voice 1:"and i lose myself in those blue eyes."
"coo-coo"
"swan song from the whale waving back from the back porch. making up my mind. cracking crab knuckles, sleeping on my spine. time to get comfortable for a real deep sleep. because the hemlock society's asked me out to lunch. but it's hard to eat anything through this tube in my gut. please don't leave me messages in languages i don't speak. i don't pick up."
voice 3: "one last breath of chalk dust from tired teacher lungs.
voice 4: "i felt a vein bust like a fire hydrant in the sun."
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3. |
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we were smoking in my car, april frost on the window. i'd just got back from chicago and you were about to go. now we're not so far. you were going on about the coolest party that i saw pictures from but never the front door. with "everyone was there," and "man, you should've seen it." i doubt i'd remember it. walking through the parking lot and the stale cinema lobby, i felt like a ghost watching his own funeral procession. i never had a fighting chance at being the last thing on your mind every night. now i don't pay for cigarettes. i don't go to the movies. i'm saving up for something, but the details are kinda hazy.
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4. |
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we shared an awkward first kiss in your dorm room. i should've gone in and tried it again. you left your keys on the desk and you closed the door. deep breaths count to ten. i walked home in a steady rain, shaking from an electrified half second, stumbling over all my thoughts, thunder rolling in the distance. i can't quite tell in this light if you share the same blue as mine or if a little green's thrown in the mix. i just hope that i'm still on your mind waking up at half til six. just an excitable boy, nervous and timid. i don't know how anyone could ever miss it. tiny freckles on your cheeks are constellations in my eyes. siriusly drawing out every word i speak.
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5. |
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6. |
interlude
00:35
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7. |
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i've been staring at this patch of daisies for over a month by exit for i 65 on my way home from work. the on ramp says west (*disclaimer: this part's actually about highway 280, but i had to incorporate it*) headlights face south. so do i. if days were a little shorter i'd pick that patch of flowers, prop them in an old coke bottle and they could leave rings on your desk next to your tea cups. but i can't keep the vital signs up for 14 days. dead stems in the water is a poor romantic gesture. broken but honest.
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8. |
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sorry mom, i started smoking again. i needed something that wouldn't slip through my fingers. sorry dad, i'm out of money again. please don't send any with your next letter. first to rise for the very first time the first weekend in your new house. cat shit and a headache woke me up, i snuck out quiet as a church mouse. fair weather friend on the senate floor, slick your hair back with my blood. i know i'm such a bore. i had a plan to scream til i was blue in the face with a throat so hoarse you strap a saddle on my and kick me in the sides half way to the west coast. no one found me by the water where i was jumping off rocks into the sand pretending they were tall buildings. these things can take up all your time, so i'll do my best to take it all in stride. these things can take up your whole life, it's a long story so ask me inside.
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9. |
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i could never ever absolutely not under any circumstances tell anyone exactly what i need from them. the only thing i can justify is loneliness. i could never ever absolutely not under any circumstances tell anyone exactly what i want for them. its hard not to project hopelessness. here we go again, hands keep shaking. blank expression mirrored in heavy lipped concern. words say themselves don't know the noises they're making. we are not ourselves. products of sublimination and medication. some animals break out. some never leave their cages. if it's a means to an end, or a push out the front door, every morning i could wake up and see goodness in the sun. don't make your bed in spiderwebs. you'll get tied down to the bedspread. it's your own venom, your own poison.
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10. |
american again
02:25
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i figured out how to become american again. build a thirty foot wall around the red mental state i'm in. all the dark thoughts will have trouble creeping inside. if all else fails, the swirling disconnect will eat them all alive. and i refuse to realize my full potential. hail! the golden calf of my past self on its tiered pedestal! vote in placebos to grow secure in my delusions. try to wage war on all the sleep that i've been losing. what's the diagnosis? something's gotta go. stop combatting fears by inducing fears of what we don't know. don't dismiss the sickness, it's time to change old habits. why settle for silence when our fate's the only thing we hold? i believe that a system should support its people. but the people are swallowed whole in its cracks. and i believe in a conciousness that we can raise. i believe in a clock that we can turn back.
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11. |
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film me watching my things on the floor. maybe watch it when you get bored. i know, i know, i'm wasting time. there's shit to do. six strings 10 callouses. i drank a beer for the hell of it, but the taste it only reminded me of you. woah oh. oh no. thought i heard a knock at the door. i moaned "who's there?" didn't hear any more. who the hell would come creeping round tonight? don't mind me i'll just be choking down blankets and counting down til the next storm hits. i don't wanna try. but in my tiny bedroom no one can tell me what chords to play. i'll go to bed when i pass out and sleep all day. if you're looking for meaning, look the fuck away. film me watching my things on the floor. i know, i know i'm wasting your time.
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