(no subject)
My late night, can't sleep, dreamy poet is coming back. I don't know whether or not to watch Kyo Kara Maou! or sit here listening to Rilo Kiley's "The Good That Won't Come Out" while I contemplate the idea of true love and reread Metanoia for the umpteenth time.
God fucking damn it, Jesse can write. His writings are what I've hoped mine could be. The way to capture something, in certain lights. The way to describe feeling. The mix of idealism and realism that makes the reader wonder if the ideals are as real as the cold world is.
See? My poetic side is peeking out. If only I could translate it to the blank page I'm about to open up in two seconds. I feel like I'm back at 15, ignoring schoolwork for all it's trivialities while I huddle in front of my computer screen until 3am, wrecking my body and my daytime mind in a search for something more.
Isn't it all so romantic?
God, I love not making any sense.
Let's get together and talk about the modern age.
All of our friends were gathered there with their pets
just talking shit about how we're all so upset about the disappearing ground.
As we watch it melt....
It's all of the good that won't come out of us
and how eventually our hands will just turn to dust,
if we keep shaking them.
Standing here on this frozen lake.
I do this thing where I think I'm real sick
but I won't go to the doctor to find out about it
Cause they make you stay real still in a real small space
As they chart up your insides and put them on display.
They'd see all of it, all of me, all of it.
All the good that won't come out of me
and all the stupid lies I hide behind.
It's such a big mistake
lying here in your warm embrace.
Oh, you're almost home.
I've been waiting for you to come in.
Dancing around in your old suits going crazy in your room again.
I think I'll go out an embarrass myself by getting drunk and falling down in
the street.
You say I choose sadness
that it never once has chosen me.
Maybe you're right...
Let's talk about all of our friends who lost the war
And all of the novels that had yet to be written about them.
It's all the good that won't come out of them
and all the stupid lies they hide behind.
It's such a big mistake
Standing here on this frozen lake.
It's all of the good that won't come out of me
And how eventually my mouth will just turn to dust
If I don't tell you quick.
Standing here on this frozen lake.
God fucking damn it, Jesse can write. His writings are what I've hoped mine could be. The way to capture something, in certain lights. The way to describe feeling. The mix of idealism and realism that makes the reader wonder if the ideals are as real as the cold world is.
See? My poetic side is peeking out. If only I could translate it to the blank page I'm about to open up in two seconds. I feel like I'm back at 15, ignoring schoolwork for all it's trivialities while I huddle in front of my computer screen until 3am, wrecking my body and my daytime mind in a search for something more.
Isn't it all so romantic?
God, I love not making any sense.
Let's get together and talk about the modern age.
All of our friends were gathered there with their pets
just talking shit about how we're all so upset about the disappearing ground.
As we watch it melt....
It's all of the good that won't come out of us
and how eventually our hands will just turn to dust,
if we keep shaking them.
Standing here on this frozen lake.
I do this thing where I think I'm real sick
but I won't go to the doctor to find out about it
Cause they make you stay real still in a real small space
As they chart up your insides and put them on display.
They'd see all of it, all of me, all of it.
All the good that won't come out of me
and all the stupid lies I hide behind.
It's such a big mistake
lying here in your warm embrace.
Oh, you're almost home.
I've been waiting for you to come in.
Dancing around in your old suits going crazy in your room again.
I think I'll go out an embarrass myself by getting drunk and falling down in
the street.
You say I choose sadness
that it never once has chosen me.
Maybe you're right...
Let's talk about all of our friends who lost the war
And all of the novels that had yet to be written about them.
It's all the good that won't come out of them
and all the stupid lies they hide behind.
It's such a big mistake
Standing here on this frozen lake.
It's all of the good that won't come out of me
And how eventually my mouth will just turn to dust
If I don't tell you quick.
Standing here on this frozen lake.