saves the day is still cool.
so there are a few things that have been driving me crazy...
www.columbiacruelty.com
...check the link for more information, unreasonable, illegitimate, and torturous testing on baboons, currently being investigated. and, i hate to use livejournal as a political venue, but check:
www.cnn.com/2004/US/09/22/plane.diverted.stevens/
...for more information about the US government detaining, redirecting, and deporting musician cat stevens in what is being labeled as racial profiling on the islamic stevens. as jon stevens so eloqunetly put it on the daily show, "whew. finally, we got the guy who wrote 'peace train.'"
once again, i hate to swing left on you guys, especially here, but these issues have both been driving me crazy for the past couple weeks, and i feel like anyone who reads my journal, or anyone who happens across this entry should visit these links and look into both situations carefully.
i did some painting (peep my new user pic), a lot of writing, and some partying this weekend here in west palm, all in my continued vain attempt at satisfying myself emotionally, mentally, and at the same time, struggling to understand why i've been so depressed. i've been so lonely and unhappy in gainesville, and even though the band and all my friends live there, i just don't feel like i've made any changes in my life. i had a long conversation with an old friend of mine at TJ's house, and began to realize how much i was missing, i've been keeping everyone at arm's length, making sure not to let anyone get too close, possibly attributing to these feelings of emptiness.
the saves the day b-sides CD came out, which basically means that "Sell My Old Clothes, I'm Off To Heaven" has been reintroduced into my life, and upon hearing it again for the first time since like, 8th grade, my heart just split in half, and my head was swimming with all of these old moments, i remembered what it was like to live for nothing except weekends and girlfriends and best friends, and all of these things that have become so scarce lately. and there are still people around, people i know who i might have began to stretch apart from, but i still hold close, people who make me realize how much my life has changed, simply by understanding how much time and feeling i had once emptied into them.
there are still people around, whether i've changed or they have, but i can remember high school, like this IV strapped to my arm, i can remember what "happy" felt like, and although i'm lacking it, it's not even like i want it back, i think i'm just afraid of it, i think i've been pretty much ruined. what's it like to be sorry? i know she knows how it feels, where have we both come from? the same place. i've been there and back, the extreme of every emotion, and somehow came out alive, and even though i feel like i'm missing more parts than i had, i know that i've just grown heavy with more.
and on trolleys, benches, on busses, airports and trains i've dropped quarters into payphones, and i can pinpoint moments and eras based simply on who i called, and for how long we spoke. i can remember, very clearly, the pure euphoria of having someone new to dial, and chalking up certain songs to certain times, like there's only one hour of one day per year of a decade to hear it, one time only to get the full effect, and i've sat nursing hangovers and heartaches and infections milking each song for all it's worth. it starts as a moment born, the glorious instant in which you bask in the nostalgia of a future feeling, and later becomes a realization that you've not only lost the time and place, but the meaning and the memory.
and for every song i've fallen in love with, i have a seagull and a memory tied loose with string, dangling from it's foot. i've got sweaters to remember, threadbare and sandy that still smell like her sweat, the aching scent of the last girl left. i've got yellow yarn to knit something new, and if there are secrets in your pockets, put them back where they go, it's only after months of missing each other, only during these young years, that we begin to notice how much we grew.
and there's no word for knowing how someone feels, but also knowing they won't admit it. there's no way of describing sand and sweat, rolling in each, pouring out new hearts for careless young lovers, there's nothing left for people like us who pray each night for more memories and melodies and ways to make her sigh. there are more ways than one to be happy with what happened, with the way things were, and with how much she may have loved you. every day the moon pulls the shores and the sea closer to each other, every day the sundrops and the moonsinks, and for things like fridays we've got cure songs.
there will always be nostalgia, burning bright in each of our pockets, and the excitement of life filling our stomachs like butterflies bursting from cocoons in the summer. there will always be new things, and thankfully, there will always be the memory of what was once new, keeping us blinking, breathing, dripping hearts are still wet, and feet pushing the clutch and hands pulling the gears.
let's move this machine towards each other. let's pull down our shades, our nighttime: split only by a few hours. im only still here because of the promise of a few more years. i'm only still here to catch girls like monica, girls who are only still here to be caught by boys like me.
i'm sorry it took me so long.
i'm sorry it took me so long.
.donny
...
"there's no warm world like waking girl,
and sad scent slips thick from where collars hinge skin;
slips past short shoulder, lonely; lovely, sinks in.
neck flushes red where his fingers have been,
breathing stays slight to mute this fresh sin."
.1995
www.columbiacruelty.com
...check the link for more information, unreasonable, illegitimate, and torturous testing on baboons, currently being investigated. and, i hate to use livejournal as a political venue, but check:
www.cnn.com/2004/US/09/22/plane.diverted.stevens/
...for more information about the US government detaining, redirecting, and deporting musician cat stevens in what is being labeled as racial profiling on the islamic stevens. as jon stevens so eloqunetly put it on the daily show, "whew. finally, we got the guy who wrote 'peace train.'"
once again, i hate to swing left on you guys, especially here, but these issues have both been driving me crazy for the past couple weeks, and i feel like anyone who reads my journal, or anyone who happens across this entry should visit these links and look into both situations carefully.
i did some painting (peep my new user pic), a lot of writing, and some partying this weekend here in west palm, all in my continued vain attempt at satisfying myself emotionally, mentally, and at the same time, struggling to understand why i've been so depressed. i've been so lonely and unhappy in gainesville, and even though the band and all my friends live there, i just don't feel like i've made any changes in my life. i had a long conversation with an old friend of mine at TJ's house, and began to realize how much i was missing, i've been keeping everyone at arm's length, making sure not to let anyone get too close, possibly attributing to these feelings of emptiness.
the saves the day b-sides CD came out, which basically means that "Sell My Old Clothes, I'm Off To Heaven" has been reintroduced into my life, and upon hearing it again for the first time since like, 8th grade, my heart just split in half, and my head was swimming with all of these old moments, i remembered what it was like to live for nothing except weekends and girlfriends and best friends, and all of these things that have become so scarce lately. and there are still people around, people i know who i might have began to stretch apart from, but i still hold close, people who make me realize how much my life has changed, simply by understanding how much time and feeling i had once emptied into them.
there are still people around, whether i've changed or they have, but i can remember high school, like this IV strapped to my arm, i can remember what "happy" felt like, and although i'm lacking it, it's not even like i want it back, i think i'm just afraid of it, i think i've been pretty much ruined. what's it like to be sorry? i know she knows how it feels, where have we both come from? the same place. i've been there and back, the extreme of every emotion, and somehow came out alive, and even though i feel like i'm missing more parts than i had, i know that i've just grown heavy with more.
and on trolleys, benches, on busses, airports and trains i've dropped quarters into payphones, and i can pinpoint moments and eras based simply on who i called, and for how long we spoke. i can remember, very clearly, the pure euphoria of having someone new to dial, and chalking up certain songs to certain times, like there's only one hour of one day per year of a decade to hear it, one time only to get the full effect, and i've sat nursing hangovers and heartaches and infections milking each song for all it's worth. it starts as a moment born, the glorious instant in which you bask in the nostalgia of a future feeling, and later becomes a realization that you've not only lost the time and place, but the meaning and the memory.
and for every song i've fallen in love with, i have a seagull and a memory tied loose with string, dangling from it's foot. i've got sweaters to remember, threadbare and sandy that still smell like her sweat, the aching scent of the last girl left. i've got yellow yarn to knit something new, and if there are secrets in your pockets, put them back where they go, it's only after months of missing each other, only during these young years, that we begin to notice how much we grew.
and there's no word for knowing how someone feels, but also knowing they won't admit it. there's no way of describing sand and sweat, rolling in each, pouring out new hearts for careless young lovers, there's nothing left for people like us who pray each night for more memories and melodies and ways to make her sigh. there are more ways than one to be happy with what happened, with the way things were, and with how much she may have loved you. every day the moon pulls the shores and the sea closer to each other, every day the sundrops and the moonsinks, and for things like fridays we've got cure songs.
there will always be nostalgia, burning bright in each of our pockets, and the excitement of life filling our stomachs like butterflies bursting from cocoons in the summer. there will always be new things, and thankfully, there will always be the memory of what was once new, keeping us blinking, breathing, dripping hearts are still wet, and feet pushing the clutch and hands pulling the gears.
let's move this machine towards each other. let's pull down our shades, our nighttime: split only by a few hours. im only still here because of the promise of a few more years. i'm only still here to catch girls like monica, girls who are only still here to be caught by boys like me.
i'm sorry it took me so long.
i'm sorry it took me so long.
.donny
...
"there's no warm world like waking girl,
and sad scent slips thick from where collars hinge skin;
slips past short shoulder, lonely; lovely, sinks in.
neck flushes red where his fingers have been,
breathing stays slight to mute this fresh sin."
.1995