Astronaught

one of my favorite songwriters, Amanda Palmer, from her unreleased album "Who Killed Amanda Palmer." This is a powerful performance. It defines my mood.




is it enough to have some love
small enough to slip inside a book
small enough to cover with your hand
because everyone around you wants to look

it is enough to have some love
small enough to slip inside the cracks
the pieces don’t fit together so good
with all the breaking and all the gluing back

and i am still not getting what i want
i want to touch the back of your right arm
i wish you could remind me who i was
because every day I’m a little further off

but you are, my love, the astronaut
flying in the face of science
i will gladly stay an afterthought
just bring back some nice reminders

and is it getting harder to pretend
that life goes on without you in the wake
and can you see the means without the end
in the random frantic action that we take

and is it getting easy not to care
despite the many rings around your name
it isn’t funny and it isn’t fair
you’ve traveled all this way and it’s the same

but you are, my love, the astronaut
flying in the face of science
i will gladly stay an afterthought
just bring back some nice reminders
and i would tell them anything to see you split the evening
but as you see i do not have an awful lot to tell
everybody’s sick for something that they can find fascinating
everyone but you and even you aren’t feeling well

but you are, my love, the astronaut
flying in the face of science
i will gladly stay an afterthought
just bring back some nice reminders

yes you are, my love, the astronaut
crashing in the name of science
just my luck they sent your upper half
it’s a very nice reminder
it’s a very nice reminder

and you may be acquainted with the night
but I have seen the darkness in the day
and you must know it is a terrifying sight
because you and i are living the same way

This November

a musical musings of my mood.
sounds sort of like a 1950's love song.
capo on 5, c-am/c-am-dm-g
rinse, stir, and repeat.



Last summer, your blue sheets were endless
and time then was timeless
As we laid in love all day

And then last spring
in those pictures from your old school
Where we spun in the sand
On the shoulders of the city

And still last winter,
When Christmas crashed in corners
Or Millstone and Baltimore
You were there the whole damn day

But alone here in my room
I just sit and check my phone
Knowing no one would be home
Because of last fall

We fell out of bed together
and I lost me altogether
And I think that you did too

And, I know that picture of me
I gave to you last summer
Hangs there no longer
Above those wide blue sheets

Because the room would just get colder
If you saw over her shoulder

And I know three months have been a blur
But try to remember how things were
And how they still can be

And when you go out to the local marquee
To see who is saying how sweet love can be
Remember the good times and say that you know

That she can never be me.

Fertilizer

It’s so cold tonight. Even the squirrels are chattering their teeth together; they’re huddled up, worried about frostbite so much more than me. They perch on my shoulders and I have nothing to do but think. I wonder what it feels like to be them. To exist in order to gather, to copulate, to procreate. I don’t have such meaning in my life. I just stand here, offering shelter to anyone who needs it. I guess you could say I’ve become a bit of a doormat over the years. I simply sigh and sway whichever way I need to. I bend and contort, trying to fill my proper place in the canopy. Let some sun in here, keep it shaded there, always thinking. Thinking of everything around me. Everything that works ceaselessly, running in natural cycles on instinct and circumstance. Clockwork. The doves call out in the morning, the bats come out at dusk. Everyday. Clockwork. I simply stand and listen. I can’t say anything back to them; I can’t do anything really, except hold these denizens on my shoulders. What would they do without me? Someone would fill my place sooner or later. I’d turn into the dirt that feeds my replacement. I would be destroyed, not only in body, but also in the collective mind of those who ‘loved’ me. Sure, they’d miss my comfort at first, but they would soon forget. They would adapt and alter their clockwork lives to better suit their agendas. And I would be underfoot. Tell me. If a tree falls in a forest, would anyone hear my cry?

How can you love a broken pencil?

I feel nauseous. Like something terrible is about to happen…or already has. I feel like my grip is slipping off the handle, like I’m slowly but surely descending that spiral into chaos. I don’t have a leg to stand on; these days it’s nothing but me. I can’t quench my need for attention. For people. For love. These are the things my life is lacking. I feel utterly isolated, completely alone. I fear bipolarity; I cannot recognize myself sometimes. Well, I can, but I don’t see myself through my eyes- I see myself through the eyes of God. I can stare into myself and wonder how it is that my mind matches my face. I feel internally displaced. I’m crawling through ink and pastel madly and blindly searching for my catalyst. My Divine inspiration. She used to be you. I thought she always would be. You seem so far away now- you’ve become a fog that I can breathe but not touch. I used to exist because I felt love for you. My love defined my Mortality. But these days, I just feel nervous. Empty. Desperate. I can hear your voice, maybe once a day if I’m lucky. It’s been sounding more and more apathetic. If only I had your sort of apathy. You’re unwieldy nature. You’re kiss on my neck. You’re hips against mine. Keep talking and I’ll keep crawling, bleeding knees and all. I hope you’ll still take a broken soul.

home is where your rump rests

Home. What the fuck does that mean?I’ve asked around. Home is where your family is. I have family in three countries, yet I’m left without any real origin. My immediate family lives thousands of miles away in a city full of strangers. Family is a pretty lose term in my life anyway. I have a huge family and only one person really knows me. Everyone else is more concerned with a façade I present to them. But I digress.

If home isn’t family, then it is “where the heart is.” How do you know where your heart belongs? How do you know when your heart is ready to settle into place and grow into its foundation? I am nineteen, and my heart has a lot to see before it can decide. For now, my heart takes comfort in familiar vices. Drugs, sex, art and music…typical interests for a kid my age I guess. So where am I left?

In an apartment full of strangers and empty of all my passions. It is always dark here. It is always quiet. The moment I walk through that door I feel like a kid in a china shop. “Put your hands in your pockets, don’t disturb anything.” Suddenly I’m five again. Is my music too loud? I’ll wait till two a.m. to paint out here- don’t want to make them feel uncomfortable. And you do feel uncomfortable when I’m around. Why? I almost don’t care anymore. And you wonder why I’m always gone. Should I do the dishes anyway? Is that my fair part? I don’t leave a mess. I don’t eat your food, even though I sometimes go days without eating anything substantial.

There’s a lot to life. There’s a lot out there. There’s a lot still to do. I try to go out and live through experience. There’s a lot outside the dark and quiet confines of this place. I am sorry if I offend you. I am sorry if my lifestyle does not align with your morals and ideals. This places is not my home, and it never will be. This feels more like a tomb than a house. You will probably remain strangers to me. You will still look at me with judgment. I will still dread being here. But the city is calling. I’ll keep my toothbrush in my car, and I’ll sleep when I’m dead.

Live Epic.

forgotten

well, i've forgotten about this blog. mostly because i've been too busy to sit and blog. that and i forgot the password.

what have you missed? not much. actually, that's a lie. i wouldn't even know where to begin, so i'll just leave it simply with that apathetic 'not much.'

i've been feeling really lonely. go cry and play power chords you damn emo kid. i know, right?

so this is what i'll do with this blog. i'll make it a compendium of interesting things i find on the internet. or something to that effect. a blog with a theme seems too intimidating- too structured for my lifestyle right now.

http://www.videojug.com

that site will teach you how to live you life. it takes "how to" to the next level, including everything from "how to tie a full windsor knot" to "how to cook a quiche" to "how to undo her bra without looking." check it out.



I've been thinking. being barefoot in a location that isn't traditionally a barefoot area is remarkably enlightening. like, sitting in your school union barefoot. or walking to class barefoot. weird. i think that because feet are never shown, it's unsettling when they are. maybe that's why people have foot fetishes. i mean, do what you like. but that's... unsettling.

also, "weird" is so hard for me to spell. 'i' before 'e' my ass.

life on the ranch

i've learned several things from my weekend stay at RNR Ranch in buffalo, texas, which is a double wide trailer seven miles down a dirt road.


1. Big donkeys can easily mistake your fingers for carrots.
2. Baby donkeys can easily die from pnemonia.
3. It takes a backhoe to dig a hole big enough for a baby donkey.
4. Armadillos can survive being hit with an SUV
5. Two pounds of good jerkey costs $60
6. "General store" actually means steakhouse.
7. Steakhouses don't have menus, only sizes in which you can order your beef.
8. When walking around, wave a stick around to get the huge spiderwebs away.
9. Don't stand on an ant hill.
10. Don't stand on a cactus.
11. Ah sore esell wood lofe a stik ite nah! translates to "I'll have the steak, medium rare."
12. Donkeys eat dinner mints
13. Boy donkeys are jacks, and girl donkeys are jennys.
14. Shooting a magnum revolver will make your ears ring for two days.


that's it for now, i guess. buenas noches.

home on the range

so, i am officially a texan now. fancy that. sure, i used to live in galveston and houston, but i wasn't really old enough to remember much. now, i'm a baltimorian at heart. hearing the hairspray soundtrack everywhere just rubs it in my face, "miss baltimore crabs," "good morning baltimore" etc, etc. luckily, i've had a taste or too of old bay since i've been here. it keeps me going.

texas, overall, is just hot and flat. no trees, no rivers, no hills. just dust and chaparell and rednecks legally toting guns. but the food is good. the food is really, really really good. the mexican in me is having a fiesta now that i can enjoy a wonderful chimichaunga or real pico de gallo. and no, bel air, la tolteca HARDLY counts as real mexican food. those people are from colombia or something. this is real live mexican food that you have to order in real live spanish. which i'm remembering very quickly.

in a huge turn of irony, though, i am suddenly reminded how entertaining my life would be to read. or watch for that matter. (sidenote: if and when my life is finally put on the big screen, milla jovovich needs to play me, and ratatat and grizzly bear need to do the soundtrack.) in a desolate state, in an unheard of city, (frisco. whatthefuck.) carli fleming just moved basically down the street from me. i have no words.

so in a nutshell, its hot, its flat, its boring, and its filled with huge bugs and irony. and occassional armadillos.

tomorrow night we're leaving to go visit my grandparents on their farm in centerville. which is even flatter and boringer. oh, it's a goat farm, by the way. 21 acres of brush and goats. and one donkey named sassy.

time to grab a beer and shoot a gun.

adios.