opinions are like kittens, always givin'em away.
alright here we go.
(this was written a long time ago, my estimated date is like..super late april, very early may, i don't know, i was still in school though, dug up, you find some old candy necklaces and check to see if there's still some flavor.)
written at the top in very bold lettering:
"this is for the fire."
below:
"deliver us from ----, just promise me young matches"
im looking out the window of my government classroom (3rd floor up) and way in the distance it's getting foggy- but more hazy because the sun is out, and i'm imagining that deep somewhere there might be a dilapidated building, an antannae and a townhouse; where the steel slops southward, and a second gravel artery cuts up on the eastbound, exploding into the ocean a few blocks away. it's hazy out, less foggy than thickset cloudy, rumoring stormy, whatever, i'd rather not be so good with predictions, assumptions were always too super surreal for me. water's hanging gray where the street tumbles down the horizon's mellow slope, and JUST before the eastern lane is tied off by the beachwall like a turniquet quells an artery, a trolley track bites it deep, and wood planks like teeth lay into the cracking cement and dry grass like another ancient shore shell or bleached beer bottle. where the street drops off, black dogs beat by booze hounds hunch hungrily, nails clicking like high heeled shoes, aristocrats oblivious to their own purity. but while i sit in school i can only help but imagine the point where the street slopes off the seacoast and i wonder what the humidity is like in ---------. It's lonely in West Palm, but it settles in me slowly, like the last fluttering butterfly from some ancient excitement: swinging like a pendulum, while friction seeks momentum each time, slowing it to a stop and sinking it deep into the barrel of my belly. it's lonely in west palm and all my butterflies have long since died inside of me. So suddenly, change of scenery and then sadly, same old litany. So go roll, lover, and share your sweat with the last boy left.
written around the edges:
(including various sketches)
"abominable......adorable.....electrical"
"OH NO! UH OH!"
"and with nothing else to do there's nowhere else to be with nothing else to do"
"i have not yet fallen from this treehouse"
"this last indignation we've titled 'the infinite moment' and for the lovers, we've aligned time zones to begin KISSING ALL in one and once within all"
"meanwhile, snowball organized the animals into a new civilization which they called
ANIMAL FARM"
"test.rest"
july 12, 2004. / 4:21 AM
and for tonight, thinking in a certain collegiate sporadic...
and there's about a million songs i used to listen to when i was a boy. (a real boy) way back when, with singers waxing adolescent, thoughts i would just jump at; at these ideas like i was reaching for fruit swinging from a tree, possibly not old enough to really enjoy it yet anyway, but always loving the thought that maybe i would fall in love and feel that way and make music like THAT and feel it better and make it work faster and hold it closer and take it and touch it and keep it and then i would be ok and it would be my apple and that would be the end of that. well of course. and then i would go to college and i guess i would grow up and it would be alright and that would be ok and there would still be music and people and moments and thinking and thoughts and sidewalks and all kinds of things like that. and then you grow up and you remember. and the shoes in the window get pinker and the old miller cans were definitely more shiny and then you just totally forgot why you bought those old, dirty..sort of pink shoes, or why you drank that silly beer in the first place and you start to realize that you were just working towards right now, and singing and shouting and rocking back and forth in a dim apartment with 4 close friends, "everything's gonna be alright, everything's gonna be alright" well then it slips under your fingernails and up your arms and you slowly shake your head realizing finally that it IS right now and everything is alright, and everything is gonna stay that way. and you well over with love and tears and you become more real and you start to listen to certain songs on repeat and write some phrases over and over knowing that therapy is so much more aesthetic than medicine ever feigned to be. love love love.
and in 4th grade i wrote on my folder:
"i remember when it didn't matter what time it was, because we were here, and it was always 'right now' "
and i'm starting to think that i must have been pretty wise back then, i guess i just have to root back down and get there, "empty out your bottom drawer, sort it out, put it back, live again" i mean, there really is a very pure form of true happiness buried deep inside everybody's old memories and the swimming heads and tingling arms validate the power of nostalgia for all ages. it runs thick in our senses, and without it, we're nothing but 2-Dimensional boys + girls fussing over our hairstyles and belt buckles.
i have these cups, and they're all white, but on the inside they're a really pretty shade of blue, but you can't really tell unless you give 'em a real close look.
im guilty, but i have to include this:
let's go undercover
like young lovers should
cause I can kiss you better
then this letter could
and you say
at least under
these covers
I listen to you
And all this music about you
I hope it finds you smiling again
till never begins
or till forever ends
I'll still be lost in poetics
or lost in the mail
can nobody tell you
these guys have a passion for fashion
but are sincere like a statue
and if you have to choose
I am gonna lose
I always do
we always do
nostalgia is drunk
and frustration can be gorgeous
but can i keep my mouth shut
(I listen to you
And all this music about you
I hope it finds you smiling again
till never begins
or till forever ends )
cause sometimes gorgeous can be frustration
when your life is nothing
but an honorable mention
on a radio, on the radio.
maybe i'm a baby
but i think it's time to grow.
you're everything i live for
-ever got shorter.
i'll know on a radio better
I'm a quitter than a starry
tortured soul
the lips I kissed now shape songs of sadness
hold me dear when I'm away
and I'll know when I hear your name
even if I have to sing it to myself.
-as an example, and i'll tell you what, this is the same feeling i got from it in 7th grade. i guess not much really changes, just shoe sizes, clothes, some anxiety and hairstyles.
what's more uplifting than infinite possibility?
what's more depressing than infinite possibility?
.heath!
it's so white out today
i miss the blues.
so you think he's the best in the world?
girl, you should kiss more.
(this was written a long time ago, my estimated date is like..super late april, very early may, i don't know, i was still in school though, dug up, you find some old candy necklaces and check to see if there's still some flavor.)
written at the top in very bold lettering:
"this is for the fire."
below:
"deliver us from ----, just promise me young matches"
im looking out the window of my government classroom (3rd floor up) and way in the distance it's getting foggy- but more hazy because the sun is out, and i'm imagining that deep somewhere there might be a dilapidated building, an antannae and a townhouse; where the steel slops southward, and a second gravel artery cuts up on the eastbound, exploding into the ocean a few blocks away. it's hazy out, less foggy than thickset cloudy, rumoring stormy, whatever, i'd rather not be so good with predictions, assumptions were always too super surreal for me. water's hanging gray where the street tumbles down the horizon's mellow slope, and JUST before the eastern lane is tied off by the beachwall like a turniquet quells an artery, a trolley track bites it deep, and wood planks like teeth lay into the cracking cement and dry grass like another ancient shore shell or bleached beer bottle. where the street drops off, black dogs beat by booze hounds hunch hungrily, nails clicking like high heeled shoes, aristocrats oblivious to their own purity. but while i sit in school i can only help but imagine the point where the street slopes off the seacoast and i wonder what the humidity is like in ---------. It's lonely in West Palm, but it settles in me slowly, like the last fluttering butterfly from some ancient excitement: swinging like a pendulum, while friction seeks momentum each time, slowing it to a stop and sinking it deep into the barrel of my belly. it's lonely in west palm and all my butterflies have long since died inside of me. So suddenly, change of scenery and then sadly, same old litany. So go roll, lover, and share your sweat with the last boy left.
written around the edges:
(including various sketches)
"abominable......adorable.....electrical"
"OH NO! UH OH!"
"and with nothing else to do there's nowhere else to be with nothing else to do"
"i have not yet fallen from this treehouse"
"this last indignation we've titled 'the infinite moment' and for the lovers, we've aligned time zones to begin KISSING ALL in one and once within all"
"meanwhile, snowball organized the animals into a new civilization which they called
ANIMAL FARM"
"test.rest"
july 12, 2004. / 4:21 AM
and for tonight, thinking in a certain collegiate sporadic...
and there's about a million songs i used to listen to when i was a boy. (a real boy) way back when, with singers waxing adolescent, thoughts i would just jump at; at these ideas like i was reaching for fruit swinging from a tree, possibly not old enough to really enjoy it yet anyway, but always loving the thought that maybe i would fall in love and feel that way and make music like THAT and feel it better and make it work faster and hold it closer and take it and touch it and keep it and then i would be ok and it would be my apple and that would be the end of that. well of course. and then i would go to college and i guess i would grow up and it would be alright and that would be ok and there would still be music and people and moments and thinking and thoughts and sidewalks and all kinds of things like that. and then you grow up and you remember. and the shoes in the window get pinker and the old miller cans were definitely more shiny and then you just totally forgot why you bought those old, dirty..sort of pink shoes, or why you drank that silly beer in the first place and you start to realize that you were just working towards right now, and singing and shouting and rocking back and forth in a dim apartment with 4 close friends, "everything's gonna be alright, everything's gonna be alright" well then it slips under your fingernails and up your arms and you slowly shake your head realizing finally that it IS right now and everything is alright, and everything is gonna stay that way. and you well over with love and tears and you become more real and you start to listen to certain songs on repeat and write some phrases over and over knowing that therapy is so much more aesthetic than medicine ever feigned to be. love love love.
and in 4th grade i wrote on my folder:
"i remember when it didn't matter what time it was, because we were here, and it was always 'right now' "
and i'm starting to think that i must have been pretty wise back then, i guess i just have to root back down and get there, "empty out your bottom drawer, sort it out, put it back, live again" i mean, there really is a very pure form of true happiness buried deep inside everybody's old memories and the swimming heads and tingling arms validate the power of nostalgia for all ages. it runs thick in our senses, and without it, we're nothing but 2-Dimensional boys + girls fussing over our hairstyles and belt buckles.
i have these cups, and they're all white, but on the inside they're a really pretty shade of blue, but you can't really tell unless you give 'em a real close look.
im guilty, but i have to include this:
let's go undercover
like young lovers should
cause I can kiss you better
then this letter could
and you say
at least under
these covers
I listen to you
And all this music about you
I hope it finds you smiling again
till never begins
or till forever ends
I'll still be lost in poetics
or lost in the mail
can nobody tell you
these guys have a passion for fashion
but are sincere like a statue
and if you have to choose
I am gonna lose
I always do
we always do
nostalgia is drunk
and frustration can be gorgeous
but can i keep my mouth shut
(I listen to you
And all this music about you
I hope it finds you smiling again
till never begins
or till forever ends )
cause sometimes gorgeous can be frustration
when your life is nothing
but an honorable mention
on a radio, on the radio.
maybe i'm a baby
but i think it's time to grow.
you're everything i live for
-ever got shorter.
i'll know on a radio better
I'm a quitter than a starry
tortured soul
the lips I kissed now shape songs of sadness
hold me dear when I'm away
and I'll know when I hear your name
even if I have to sing it to myself.
-as an example, and i'll tell you what, this is the same feeling i got from it in 7th grade. i guess not much really changes, just shoe sizes, clothes, some anxiety and hairstyles.
what's more uplifting than infinite possibility?
what's more depressing than infinite possibility?
.heath!
it's so white out today
i miss the blues.
so you think he's the best in the world?
girl, you should kiss more.