Stars Are Dying In My Chest..
Do you ever fool yourself like I do? Do you ever tell yourself things to try and convince that dying, sad little monster in your tortured mess of a soul that the right thing will come to permanence? Sometimes I feel like I am the wounded, withered idiot that spits on the crown when nobody is looking.
But anyway, that cliche is tired and I don't want to be the movie of the week. It's a warm and humid night on the coast of southern California. I hear helicopters circling above. They resemble giant, noisy birds of prey. I suppose it's hard to imagine helicopters swarming above your coastal apartment complex at midnight for some people, but obviously those people aren't from anywhere near Los Angeles.
Have you ever seen the skyline over the South Bay around the time darkness starts to fall? Have you ever seen twilight fall over San Pedro? It is probably the saddest and most beautiful thing in the world and it will always, no matter where I go or what I do in this world, make me think of her. I'm glad I have that. Some people don't get to have things like that. And, when it comes to her, I get to have really amazing memories of red wine and playground equipment and our San Pedro, even if I die tomorrow. It really kills me every time I visit that place.
Sometimes words don't mean enough because they can't feel and breathe and have their own sense of being. It takes one of us, an ego-driven human, to feed the image and assign it meaning. This always saddens me. Words feel so empty to me lately. That's why I never want to talk about things. They have no meaning when spoken. No anime. No soul. They feel like a way to combat the loneliness of existence and nothing more.
Everything is a moment. Lined up seconds that are sandgrains in an inexplicable, vast oceanic universe. Live it full. Make it big. Do something real and beautiful OK?
As for me, I am going to be every song on your radio. Every laugh on your TV. I'll be the fucking prom king if you'll let me. I just want to be real and gracious and warm and unending. I want to live up to my warped expectations. And I will. You'll see. It's looming and I am tired of denying it. It's there and I am going to take it.
I'm feeling better every day. Stronger every day. I'm going to do this if it breaks me into little pieces and kills me. And it probably will.
I want a drink so bad. It's an awful thing. One taste of whiskey slides right through me, like I'm a god-damned bottomless well of nothing. It used to burn. That was amazing. The last few times just felt like it was keeping me alive. Like I was junksick. It really scared me. It always scares me. What happened?
I need a carnival. I need a smile on the face of a little girl eating an ice cream cone. I need to cry and cry and cry. And then, I need to put it on a record.
I just need.
goodnight sweet summer,
BR
But anyway, that cliche is tired and I don't want to be the movie of the week. It's a warm and humid night on the coast of southern California. I hear helicopters circling above. They resemble giant, noisy birds of prey. I suppose it's hard to imagine helicopters swarming above your coastal apartment complex at midnight for some people, but obviously those people aren't from anywhere near Los Angeles.
Have you ever seen the skyline over the South Bay around the time darkness starts to fall? Have you ever seen twilight fall over San Pedro? It is probably the saddest and most beautiful thing in the world and it will always, no matter where I go or what I do in this world, make me think of her. I'm glad I have that. Some people don't get to have things like that. And, when it comes to her, I get to have really amazing memories of red wine and playground equipment and our San Pedro, even if I die tomorrow. It really kills me every time I visit that place.
Sometimes words don't mean enough because they can't feel and breathe and have their own sense of being. It takes one of us, an ego-driven human, to feed the image and assign it meaning. This always saddens me. Words feel so empty to me lately. That's why I never want to talk about things. They have no meaning when spoken. No anime. No soul. They feel like a way to combat the loneliness of existence and nothing more.
Everything is a moment. Lined up seconds that are sandgrains in an inexplicable, vast oceanic universe. Live it full. Make it big. Do something real and beautiful OK?
As for me, I am going to be every song on your radio. Every laugh on your TV. I'll be the fucking prom king if you'll let me. I just want to be real and gracious and warm and unending. I want to live up to my warped expectations. And I will. You'll see. It's looming and I am tired of denying it. It's there and I am going to take it.
I'm feeling better every day. Stronger every day. I'm going to do this if it breaks me into little pieces and kills me. And it probably will.
I want a drink so bad. It's an awful thing. One taste of whiskey slides right through me, like I'm a god-damned bottomless well of nothing. It used to burn. That was amazing. The last few times just felt like it was keeping me alive. Like I was junksick. It really scared me. It always scares me. What happened?
I need a carnival. I need a smile on the face of a little girl eating an ice cream cone. I need to cry and cry and cry. And then, I need to put it on a record.
I just need.
goodnight sweet summer,
BR