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that wasn't me, i know.
i am not one to cry uncontrollably for no apparent reason while driving down the road.
i wanted to be held by that girl i love.
i wanted to call my dad and have him tell that everything would be alright, but that just made me want to cry again.
i wanted to be great and bold and bright and stylish and have everything under control.
and i just feel like i've lost my grip on anything that might have been worth holding onto except her.
i haven't been able to even tune my fucking guitar in weeks now.
i haven't finished a song in god knows how long.
i haven't had a dream in a long time
see, the life i've had could make a good man turn bad.
so please please please let me let me
let me get what i want this time.
i'm not truly so pathetic right now that i quote the smiths as if it were my last stand, am i?
because i need to be raising battle flags on the boulevard.
i need to be dressing myself in the revolutionary style.
i need to be throwing guitars and swinging mics and crashing into drums and sing sing sing sing sing sing sing singing.
(those words look like sixteenth notes on a staff to me. scales and modes to save my soul. i want to use a violin to knock out all of my teeth and replace them all with piano keys.)
what am i doing here/now/how?
raise your hands up in the air.
i've got to have something for this prayer.
thee party program keeps calling me and then hanging up the damn phone the second i wake up. was it really a call or was it all just a dream? what is going on with me?
i don't recognize my own behavior, but is that because i've changed so much that my outdated traditions are alienated by my new eyes?
how do i know that anyone who reads this is going to translate these straight lines and curves and spaces and combinations of phrase into the same feelings that i'm feeling right now?
how do i even know that i'm feeling?
i want to see the feelings, where are they?
are they in my head- lovely colors of black and white and red?
in my veins- just strings that need to strummed to sing out and make glorious sound?
are they colorful, bright, shiny, light?
are they sequences of 1' and 0's fed into a computer chip somewhere inside of a gland somewhere in my body?
what are these feelings?
and how can you prove to me that they are real and not just figments of my imagination?
because god knows my imagination just won't take no for an answer.
sometimes, i prefer my mind to any external source.
like when i want to sleep forever, but i set my alarm early so that i can wake up and press the snooze button for hours and hours and hours, never getting a good night's rest, but always having a second chance for those moments right before you fall asleep when you're caught between the world and your dreams and you can take all of your thoughts and turn them upside down paint them and make a nation no explorer has ever found.
i will riot, yes.
and i will scream.
but mostly, these days, sometimes, when i don't feel like i can do much more
all i want to do is sleep.
i have to wake up wake up wake up.
but can you promise me that i won't fall asleep again?
because i thought i was a lot stronger than i really am, maybe.
and i'm not so sure that i can handle much more tug-of-war.
fuck balance.
right now, i want to lock myself up in a blue and yellow bedroom for a couple weeks and play guitar, have her come over whenever she wants to see me and let me love her, take visits from my friends- rach+jon being the only two other people i really care to see and share with- and keep myself locked up in a rehab of my own design. lock myself up and throw away my own key.
or maybe swallow it, so my prison is always a part of me.
if you're reading this (you probably shouldn't be) and you're worried about me (you probably shouldn't be), don't think anything of it.
all this is going to be is words that i didn't write trying to explain and understand me.
this isn't me.
ceci n'est pas brandon.
(i wish it was monday. and i wish it was raining. and i wish that the city was being bombed so i could go play out in the streets, like a child fascinated with the sky falling and the world ending. if the sky is falling, love...all we have to do is never look back, and never look down.)
i am not one to cry uncontrollably for no apparent reason while driving down the road.
i wanted to be held by that girl i love.
i wanted to call my dad and have him tell that everything would be alright, but that just made me want to cry again.
i wanted to be great and bold and bright and stylish and have everything under control.
and i just feel like i've lost my grip on anything that might have been worth holding onto except her.
i haven't been able to even tune my fucking guitar in weeks now.
i haven't finished a song in god knows how long.
i haven't had a dream in a long time
see, the life i've had could make a good man turn bad.
so please please please let me let me
let me get what i want this time.
i'm not truly so pathetic right now that i quote the smiths as if it were my last stand, am i?
because i need to be raising battle flags on the boulevard.
i need to be dressing myself in the revolutionary style.
i need to be throwing guitars and swinging mics and crashing into drums and sing sing sing sing sing sing sing singing.
(those words look like sixteenth notes on a staff to me. scales and modes to save my soul. i want to use a violin to knock out all of my teeth and replace them all with piano keys.)
what am i doing here/now/how?
raise your hands up in the air.
i've got to have something for this prayer.
thee party program keeps calling me and then hanging up the damn phone the second i wake up. was it really a call or was it all just a dream? what is going on with me?
i don't recognize my own behavior, but is that because i've changed so much that my outdated traditions are alienated by my new eyes?
how do i know that anyone who reads this is going to translate these straight lines and curves and spaces and combinations of phrase into the same feelings that i'm feeling right now?
how do i even know that i'm feeling?
i want to see the feelings, where are they?
are they in my head- lovely colors of black and white and red?
in my veins- just strings that need to strummed to sing out and make glorious sound?
are they colorful, bright, shiny, light?
are they sequences of 1' and 0's fed into a computer chip somewhere inside of a gland somewhere in my body?
what are these feelings?
and how can you prove to me that they are real and not just figments of my imagination?
because god knows my imagination just won't take no for an answer.
sometimes, i prefer my mind to any external source.
like when i want to sleep forever, but i set my alarm early so that i can wake up and press the snooze button for hours and hours and hours, never getting a good night's rest, but always having a second chance for those moments right before you fall asleep when you're caught between the world and your dreams and you can take all of your thoughts and turn them upside down paint them and make a nation no explorer has ever found.
i will riot, yes.
and i will scream.
but mostly, these days, sometimes, when i don't feel like i can do much more
all i want to do is sleep.
i have to wake up wake up wake up.
but can you promise me that i won't fall asleep again?
because i thought i was a lot stronger than i really am, maybe.
and i'm not so sure that i can handle much more tug-of-war.
fuck balance.
right now, i want to lock myself up in a blue and yellow bedroom for a couple weeks and play guitar, have her come over whenever she wants to see me and let me love her, take visits from my friends- rach+jon being the only two other people i really care to see and share with- and keep myself locked up in a rehab of my own design. lock myself up and throw away my own key.
or maybe swallow it, so my prison is always a part of me.
if you're reading this (you probably shouldn't be) and you're worried about me (you probably shouldn't be), don't think anything of it.
all this is going to be is words that i didn't write trying to explain and understand me.
this isn't me.
ceci n'est pas brandon.
(i wish it was monday. and i wish it was raining. and i wish that the city was being bombed so i could go play out in the streets, like a child fascinated with the sky falling and the world ending. if the sky is falling, love...all we have to do is never look back, and never look down.)