(no subject)
hey guys. got my hair cut today. then had abnd practice til about 4. then will and i kayaked in the woods. i'm going to will's soon to edit. the site's gonna take longer than we thought, but it will get up eventually. the aorta sitte launched today, chet that out, yo.
dont feel bad not reading this, its just a stupid daydream.
An Ideal Day:
Wake up to a cold glass of orange juice without any ice, because the ice melts too fast in this weather. There are little bits of pulp that feel good on my dry throat. I’ve been screaming too much. Alexander and I walk to the ocean and it’s still not light out. There’s no one on the beach because it’s so early and Alexander and I have another one of those strange detailed talks: this time about where seagulls go at night. We’ve reached the conclusion that they probably don’t ever sleep and that they just sit around. We’ve also reached the conclusion that the life of a seagull would make a cool movie. The sun slowly makes it’s climb and it is apparent because Alexander is squinting now. With more light, I can see that he is getting more and more freckles with each day. We sit on the beach until about 8:30 or so just talking like we always do. It seems that the most appropriate lyrics we can find for the feeling’s we’re getting are those of Andrew McMahon: “Fuck yeah, we can live like this.” We brought the entire OJ container and I’m on my fourth glass. I brought the mug with the picture of us on it that we bought my dad for Christmas. Alexander is on his twelfth shot of orange juice. My lips are getting chapped and I keep licking them and it keeps getting worse. We decide it’s probably a good idea to walk back around now. Both of our feet are blistered from wearing our Rainbows so much, but they’re getting broken in nicely. So much that you can almost feel the gravel on the driveway through the sandals.
Its probably around nine now and then sun is barely making its way through the blinds. You don’t realize it but you’ve somehow managed to turn yourself around completely so your head is now at the foot of the bed. It makes for a good laugh on the porch, now, overlooking the bay. You tell me how you want to do “crazy shit. You know, like skydiving. I want to get out there.” I know, we all want to. And you sure know how to talk the talk. But I’m sure you’ve heard this before: that’s not livin’ to me. Hell, you could throw me off a goddamn cliff, like no strings attached, and if I ever made it out I’d be sure to let you know what I had just proved to myself: there’s no better way to live than to love. Yeah, I’d let you know.
By now it’s around eleven and Alexander has taken off again. Who knows where that kid goes? I’ll tell you, he sure knows what it’s like to live though. Remember when he jumped out his fucking window and ran in a fucking t-shirt and his fucking boxers in the fucking snow? Crazy. That kid would do anything for a girl. And I’m glad. He has more pride than anyone I’ve ever seen. Anyway, we decide that pizza would taste good around now. So I hop on my cruiser with you on the handlebars and we just sail. The air is salty but crisp. Like when you go outside at night in Florida and its warm and cold at the same time and it feels really strange but amazing. I just got a mouthful of your hair and you’re still wearing my Aviators. One of my Rainbows just fell off. Fuck it, yanno? I can make it the rest of the summer barefoot. The pizza is alright. It’s not Passareilo’s but, hey, we’re at the fucking beach. I give the guy a heavy tip because he seems nice and he looks like he could use another bottle of conditioner. On the way out, I routinely hold the door for you. Of course, you don’t say thanks. You never say thanks, like it’s my civil duty or something. Whatever, who gives a shit? I love you, honestly. On the way home we ride by my sandal. And you know what? Fuck it again. I seriously don’t want it anymore.
I'll finish that soon and put the rest up.
Keep it together.
dont feel bad not reading this, its just a stupid daydream.
An Ideal Day:
Wake up to a cold glass of orange juice without any ice, because the ice melts too fast in this weather. There are little bits of pulp that feel good on my dry throat. I’ve been screaming too much. Alexander and I walk to the ocean and it’s still not light out. There’s no one on the beach because it’s so early and Alexander and I have another one of those strange detailed talks: this time about where seagulls go at night. We’ve reached the conclusion that they probably don’t ever sleep and that they just sit around. We’ve also reached the conclusion that the life of a seagull would make a cool movie. The sun slowly makes it’s climb and it is apparent because Alexander is squinting now. With more light, I can see that he is getting more and more freckles with each day. We sit on the beach until about 8:30 or so just talking like we always do. It seems that the most appropriate lyrics we can find for the feeling’s we’re getting are those of Andrew McMahon: “Fuck yeah, we can live like this.” We brought the entire OJ container and I’m on my fourth glass. I brought the mug with the picture of us on it that we bought my dad for Christmas. Alexander is on his twelfth shot of orange juice. My lips are getting chapped and I keep licking them and it keeps getting worse. We decide it’s probably a good idea to walk back around now. Both of our feet are blistered from wearing our Rainbows so much, but they’re getting broken in nicely. So much that you can almost feel the gravel on the driveway through the sandals.
Its probably around nine now and then sun is barely making its way through the blinds. You don’t realize it but you’ve somehow managed to turn yourself around completely so your head is now at the foot of the bed. It makes for a good laugh on the porch, now, overlooking the bay. You tell me how you want to do “crazy shit. You know, like skydiving. I want to get out there.” I know, we all want to. And you sure know how to talk the talk. But I’m sure you’ve heard this before: that’s not livin’ to me. Hell, you could throw me off a goddamn cliff, like no strings attached, and if I ever made it out I’d be sure to let you know what I had just proved to myself: there’s no better way to live than to love. Yeah, I’d let you know.
By now it’s around eleven and Alexander has taken off again. Who knows where that kid goes? I’ll tell you, he sure knows what it’s like to live though. Remember when he jumped out his fucking window and ran in a fucking t-shirt and his fucking boxers in the fucking snow? Crazy. That kid would do anything for a girl. And I’m glad. He has more pride than anyone I’ve ever seen. Anyway, we decide that pizza would taste good around now. So I hop on my cruiser with you on the handlebars and we just sail. The air is salty but crisp. Like when you go outside at night in Florida and its warm and cold at the same time and it feels really strange but amazing. I just got a mouthful of your hair and you’re still wearing my Aviators. One of my Rainbows just fell off. Fuck it, yanno? I can make it the rest of the summer barefoot. The pizza is alright. It’s not Passareilo’s but, hey, we’re at the fucking beach. I give the guy a heavy tip because he seems nice and he looks like he could use another bottle of conditioner. On the way out, I routinely hold the door for you. Of course, you don’t say thanks. You never say thanks, like it’s my civil duty or something. Whatever, who gives a shit? I love you, honestly. On the way home we ride by my sandal. And you know what? Fuck it again. I seriously don’t want it anymore.
I'll finish that soon and put the rest up.
Keep it together.