a birthday girl sings a little of the blues (we still do eps, okay?)
under heaven © leonard van munster
strait is the gate, the hylozoists
we’re staring at the ceiling. and her hand reaches for his, her fingers skimming his palm. she doesn’t know what else to do other than this. but really, ironically, it’s still a strange step for them.
el-p, flyentology (cassettes won't listen remix)
this is the kind of dream: she’s running and running and running- her nails claw off posters on the wall, trent reznor and monet, but what do you know, she’s still a remixing product of her parents’ years.
albert hammond, jr, everyone gets a star
the first time you hear the strokes, you think of cigarettes and cheap beer. but here you go, pop culture junkie- let’s take a step back into a music montage to the oc.
the black lips, everybody's doing it
in the corner of the bar, he presses her against the wall as they dip behind a phone booth. she laughs and he takes her perfume into memory, his mouth brushing against her throat. remember guys, they’re eternally young.
red leaf black bird, flatland (fixed)
this is a song for your broken heart. not the kind for movies, stories, or magazine pages. this is the song where she sits, curls on her stomach, and her fingers pick at the ends of the pillow. she says: i loved him in italics. because it’s a close goodbye. right?