i've got to do something/ come in with a bang or a boom/ leave hushed silence behind me in the room.
spent my last fourteen dollars on the new head automatica record yesterday.
had to go to four different record stores to find it which really troubles me because i feel that every person in this nation and europe too should have been running out and counting change to purchase it just like me.
and the fact that all the record stores in town didn't have the greatest album of my life really makes me sad about the state of music affairs.
it's all business i suppose.
right now, i have this overwhelming feeling like i'm not going to make it out alive. out of what i don't know. like there's a sniper in the trees outside, waiting to give me my shocking conclusion. sorry folks, no denouement. just a quiet, peaceful death.
i'm disappearing. or pulling off petals one at a time until there's nothing left but a skeleton of beauty. a reminder of what could have been, maybe.
answer the methadone telephone i'm sick of hanging from this god damn dialtone.
i don't think i'm ever going to talk about writing songs again.
so if anyone knows me and ever even occasionally thinks anything along the lines of associating my name with the words musician or artist or writer, well think again.
i'm just a skinny boy shouting at brick walls and bridges.
i am tongue-tied and boring and a fuck-up.
how's that for art?
cause that's all i've got. so if you need something from me, you'll just have to take what you can get.
i'm flattering myself, i know.
all my words amount to is obnoxious interruptions in silence.
a misspelled word that no one knows, that's me.
brandon.
ps- the one thing i have to say is lost on my inability to communicate. i hope she knows i hope she knows.
had to go to four different record stores to find it which really troubles me because i feel that every person in this nation and europe too should have been running out and counting change to purchase it just like me.
and the fact that all the record stores in town didn't have the greatest album of my life really makes me sad about the state of music affairs.
it's all business i suppose.
right now, i have this overwhelming feeling like i'm not going to make it out alive. out of what i don't know. like there's a sniper in the trees outside, waiting to give me my shocking conclusion. sorry folks, no denouement. just a quiet, peaceful death.
i'm disappearing. or pulling off petals one at a time until there's nothing left but a skeleton of beauty. a reminder of what could have been, maybe.
answer the methadone telephone i'm sick of hanging from this god damn dialtone.
i don't think i'm ever going to talk about writing songs again.
so if anyone knows me and ever even occasionally thinks anything along the lines of associating my name with the words musician or artist or writer, well think again.
i'm just a skinny boy shouting at brick walls and bridges.
i am tongue-tied and boring and a fuck-up.
how's that for art?
cause that's all i've got. so if you need something from me, you'll just have to take what you can get.
i'm flattering myself, i know.
all my words amount to is obnoxious interruptions in silence.
a misspelled word that no one knows, that's me.
brandon.
ps- the one thing i have to say is lost on my inability to communicate. i hope she knows i hope she knows.