Quality of life is all about angles, perceptions, attitudes,
all of which can be changed at will.
Think about it;
you make so many unimportant decisions every day.
Why not make the most important decision of all?:
to love your life,
genuinely love it.
Only you can chase the skeletons from your closet,
lift your rug and sweep under it,
clean up the scrapes on your knees,
pick yourself up and move on.
Everyone has a past,
but (for the time being, at least) I'm letting go of mine.
I'm falling, free-falling, face first into the future.
I am so young.
There is still so much time left to give and receive love.
I will giftwrap that love in the most elegant goldleaf paper,
place elaborate, beautiful bows upon the top,
and give it away to all I encounter.
Otherwise, existence really has no meaning or purpose.
Check under your Christmas trees;
there might still be one small parcel hidden underneath from me.

No man is an island.
But, woman certainly can be.


True solitude is an art, and I, an artist at heart and by nature.
To truly close off one's heart and oneself...
to shut out every unwanted sensory perception...
to remain tight-lipped and exist in numbness...
to disappear from view...
to perfect these crafts takes years of dilligent practice,
of which I have had many.
Solitude, isolation, and vanishing are beautiful, don't you see?
How can you not see the beauty in it?
It abounds. It is plenty. It is real and raw.
Cassandra, Cassandra, Cassandra, when did we become one, you and I?
Was it in childhood that we were bound to exist as such?
Was it developed with the passing of time?
I have never met you,
I do not even know who you are,
yet somehow, we are one in the same.

I, the artist, shall now paint myself with my favorite medium: invisibility.
It's beautiful. It's beautiful. IT'S FUCKING BEAUTIFUL.

I have the very strong longing to wrap my arms around another human being.

I desire, want, and need to be held.

Not a brief hug.

Not a seven-second embrace.

I need to be held, honest-to-god held.

Until then, I'll hold myself.

Can't focus. Can't sleep. Can't focus.
That song from the past just won't leave me alone.
Plagues. A pox upon me.
Yet, I hit repeat over and over with fervor.
I prolong the agony. I will it to be.
I need this. I fucking need this.
It's not masochism, for this is not pleasurable.
I need the pain to feel alive right now,
to remind, to forget, to hold on, to let go, to let go, to let go,
LET GO.

Tonight, the bottle's just for me,
not for us or for three.
LET GO.

Culture. I have it.
It possesses me as I possess it.
Too much. Too worldly. Too soon.
LET GO.

How I've aged in just a year.
No surprise.
When these things happen, we must grow up.
Adult dealings turn one into an adult,
especially when forced upon one rapidly,
simultaneously, all at once, incessantly, powpowpow.
LET GO.

Looploop the song goes.
My head pounds.
My heart pounds.
My head hurts.
My heart hurts.
LET GO.
LET GO.
LET GO.

Such options presented themselves to me in that moment!
[Perhaps tootootoo numerous. So spoiled am I.]

Some news-worthy/prison-worthy:
Obviously I did not opt for those;
I doubt they'd let me blog behind bars.
The acceleration would have felt exhilirating, though,
the revving and roaring of my blue death machine!

Some shameless/troublesome:
Which, also were not selected,
though they frantically raced in circles 'round my brain,
like lab rats in a maze.
To verbalize just one sentiment would have brought shallow satisfaction,
momentary, fleeting, and ultimately hollow.
But, quickquick my neurons silenced my loosened lips.
No ships were sunk. Though, you sunk my battleship,
& 'twould have been a fair trade.

In this split-second explosion of
contradictory thoughts & weighing of consequence,
what was chosen seems to be a trend:
LAUGHTER.
It was all that could be done in a moment of such irony and power.
Oh, the power I held.
Oh, the choices I had.
Oh, the places you'll go.
But, you'll go nowhere.
Oh, the places I'll go while you rot.
You are the living dead and I, the vibrant.
My power over you extends far past that moment;
it is life-long and infinite, as is your failure and mediocrity.
It was the best choice, after all.
LAUGHTER.
LAUGHTER.
LAUGHTER.
LAUGHTER.

Under the city lights, we danced.
(twirl.swirl.dip.shimmy.repeat.)
The post-bar smell of stale alcohol perfumed.
The post-bar feeling of slight intoxication.
Oh, to be/feel intoxicating as well as intoxicated.
Ridiculed by the headlights of the passing cars,
not a care but for keeping rhythm amidst stupor.
Your 6 and my 3/4, we must have been a sight,
a sight for the sorest of eyes,
for my sore eyes.
SilverSeas&VictimoftheCrime.
'Twas a victimless crime,
embracing the feeling of being alive,
and put me in shackles if it was, after all,
for I will not forfeit easily this time.
Revival, renaissance, and renewal.
I was reborn under those streetlights,
andyouhavenoideawhatyouhavedoneforme.
The freshening of my tired spirit overpowered my tired limbs,
and I danced. I danced. I danced. I. Danced.
I did not want it to end, dear friend,
but basic physiological needs won in the end.
To answer your inquiry, yes, I say.
It was enough. It was the perfect amount.
As we danced, I felt the glimmer return to my eye,
the sly sparkle that has evaded my iris for what seems like an eternity.
The flush of youth&exhiliration returned alongside it.

I am alive. Alive, am I.
Je suis vivant!
I will shine and sparkle, diamond-like.
The Diamond has made her glorious&triumphant return.
Welcome her with open arms.
She has missed you dearly.

"And if I don't make it, know that I loved you all along" - Our Lady Peace

Angels, all of you.
This, I believe in earnest.
When I set foot in the room, I see your smiles and kind eyes,
but am overwhelmed by the air from the beating of your wings.
The breeze is refreshing, something I have yet to experience,
and something I never thought would be experienced during my earthly time.
But, angels do walk amongst us, and I have recently encountered several.
Came into my life with the most perfect of timing, you have,
at my time of deepest despair, need, want, and desire.
I thirsted for something real, something pure, something beautiful,
and my prayers were answered in you.
Your kindness, acceptance, and warmth are serving as my salvation,
helping hands along this long, hard road out of this hell.
So open are your arms, while most hold themselves and themselves alone
with a vice-like grip.

This is my gratitude in the best way I can express it.
I live tight-mouthed and incapable of formulating the words,
unable to utter it,
but the words flow freely,
pouring from my fingertips like water from a broken dam,
pent up and wanting so badly to be made manifest.

I humbly thank you, and hope that this is merely the beginning.

Letters...

Tonight, Phoenix floats in and out, audible, then inaudible.
The thoughts are consuming and have been so for weeks, now.
They are louder than the lungs of these Frenchmen.
Though, they can't help but cease momentarily
in concurrence with and reverence to
the notion of alphabetical existence.
Alphabetical.
Alphabet.
Letters.
Here are some of those.


To the one who judged me:
You took your position as such from the day of our meeting. This defendant continuously pled her case for the duration, hoping to sway you for a "not guilty" ruling. But, your verdicts no longer determine my sentencing and weigh heavy upon my shoulders and thoughts. I will never again have to sit through another lecture as my eardrums suffer yet another inundation of self-righteousness and pride. Perhaps it is time you turn the gavel upon yourself? I feel as though your eyes only saw me as another in need of your pearls of wisdom, but I never was and never did. Diatribe after diatribe, my tongue began to atrophy from lack of usage, and when it was, I spoke in parables and of casting stones (but, to no avail). You were born with cotton-stuffed ears. I am content to be freed from the chains of your constant disapproval and watchful eyes.

To the fledgling:
Don't you dare look back. If you do, I avow you face the same fate as the wife of Lot and will be instantaneously turned to a pillar of salt. These hearts are hard and gazes cold; it is due time you experienced the warmth. Run from here with the speed of an Olympic athlete. Dance on the sands. Fly.

To the one who loves me:
I will always love you, too. You are the love of my life.

To the spiral:
Reverse your direction. Head north, fair one. If you continue downwards, though, I shan't leave your side. I have become numbed to being sucked into the vortex created long ago, and have gone from spiral to plane throughout the years. Constancy and stability and ears and shoulders and arms are all I can offer, and are rare, generous gifts. It is scarce that one human being will genuinely offer that to another, as most prefer to keep their ears and shoulders and arms selfishly to themselves. But, mine have been donated to your cause. If only you could see with my eyes and see the light and the beauty radiating from your skin and your soul, shooting off in all directions, refracting. To you, I avow: I am good, I am honest, I am true and of the purest of intent.

Me,
you,
the city skyline,
Bjork,
and a bottle of Italian champagne.
Kid, we owned it all tonight.


This numbness is a new genre that I have yet to experience. I have become numb to the negative and neutral, only feeling the positive. The positive is, of course, hindered in getting through my shell, and it is riddled with nostalgia and the bittersweet, but, oh, the vibrations are marvelous as they wash over my consciousness.

Allow me to courteously declare neutrality now, no matter the matter. I would like to remain blissfully uninvolved and remove myself from reality. I am functioning on autopilot and am content that way for the time being. Take me anywhere, say what you will, do what you will to me. I am along for the ride; I am the Bonnie to your Clyde, dear friends. I avow I will not be a backseat driver. Pull my puppet strings to move my limbs; contort me into the most awkward of positions... I have not a care in the world. "It is easier this way," said the recluse.

I do not wish to have control in a world where the sacred spots of my youth are destroyed, paved over, built upon in the steady march of progress. Was this monstrosity you are constructing worth it? [Though we do not speak, I longed to phone you tonight to tell you of the destruction of our hideaway. The best and worst of times were truly shared upon that soil.] Soil. There is no longer soil anywhere... just concrete, metals, eyesores. [Don't worry, officer, no criminal mischief was afoot; I was simply looking to recover a mere iota of the inner peace and solitude once held in this locale, but you have the situation under control, now. Carry on.]

Oh, James Hagan, where were you tonight?

I do believe there is some conspiracy against me. Everyone in the world is in on it but me, in a very Truman Show-esque way. I am not allowed to be happy. I am only given brief tastes of happiness as a teaser, what I could have if I weren't me.

The world holds so much beauty, but I go through much of my life with such jaded, cataracted eyes and difficulty in seeing it. Lies, betrayals, absence, sorrow, pain... it all turns to this calloused cataract, building and building, coming closer to permanence.

I don't know how I keep on going with all the knives in my back and pins in my voodoo doll, but I do, somehow. Maybe it's strength. Maybe it's my going within myself at all times. Maybe it's that I never really let people all the way in. Maybe it's the numbed state I exist in most of the time.

I should stop allowing myself to be pulled out of that numbness.
The numbness has never let me down.
I've become quite the fan of feeling nothing at all.
I should be a more loyal fan. Nobody likes fairweather fans.

And then, enter: the tiger...

I choose the lion.
I will always choose the lion.

What Lexi is Looking For in a Mate

Of late, what I am seeking has apparently been vastly misinterpreted.
I have high standards for myself.
I don't enjoy dating around for the hell of it.
It gets extremely old and redundant quite quickly.
So, as to preemptively avoid any further confusion,
I now present to you: What I Am Looking For.


The Non-Negotiables:

1) Intelligence.
You don't need a degree in rocket science, but you must be able to keep up with me to at least some extent. I dig intelligent conversation and witty banter. I don't enjoy defining words post-usage. No pseudo-smarts either... pretty transparent when that's occurring. As I said, I don't require genius IQ... but please, for the love of god, pick up a book every now and then or teach me something new.

2) Attractiveness.
Do not misconstrue this, either. I'm not expecting someone modelesque. I need to be able to stomach looking at you is all I'm saying. I fall in "like" due to looks, but in love due to personality.

3) Passion.
I do not have any concern with what it is that you may be passionate about [some exclusions apply], but I beg of you... have a passion for SOMETHING...anything. Maybe you know more about something than anyone else, or perhaps you have a penchant for collecting something, or you play an instrument, or a special skill. Interests beyond "Well...yeah...I like to hang out with my friends and stuff" are a must.

4) Self-sufficience.
I.E. Can you take care of yourself? Are you a big boy? Do you have a job [not to pay for me, but to financially care for yourself]? Are you of strong, stable mind? I like being the woman in the relationship, so do you have some hidden supply of estrogen lurking somewhere in there? I'm fond of maturity and strength [not physical, emotional]. Sound like you?

5) Kindness.
I can't stand mean-spirited people and people with hollow hearts. "Shit-talking" bores me to tears and turns me off from people. I detest gossip, pettiness, and cruelty. I hate being mistreated. I don't need spoiled. There is a vast difference between being spoiled and having my rights as a fellow human being and my entitlement to feelings acknowledged and respected. [A.K.A. Don't treat me like shit.]

6) Loyalty.
You have one girl. She is me. Your heart is mine. Your body is mine. And likewise, these are applicable for you in regards to me. Three's a crowd. Four's a crowd. Five's a crowd. I don't share.


Major Bonus Points Awarded For:

1) Humor
2) Artisticness
3) A passion for music
4) Honesty
5) Openness
6) Ambition


Bonus Points Awarded For:

1) Willingness to trust
2) Liberal views/beliefs
3) Being a social creature
[I tire of wallflowers. Being shy is alright, but only to a certain point. Don't hold me back.]
4) Acceptance
5) Shared interests
6) Ability to be child-like
7) Realism
8) Straightforwardness

I am also quite fond of weirdness, quirkiness, the willingness to make a complete ass of yourself in public, the ability to shun the mainstream/popular opinion, and the complete disregard for what is the "cool thing to do." I detest overly-competitive males and that uber-masculinity that a great deal of men seem to find ever-so-necessary.


If you think that the ideal male that I have just finished describing and you, yourself, are one and the same, then feel free to contact me. I am searching for you...desperately.
Otherwise, pleeeeeease stop wasting my time.

are you my lady?
are you my lady?
are you my lady?
are you my lady?
are you my lady?
are you my lady?
I stay optimistic.
I stay positive.
I keep my chin up and eyes skyward and head immersed in clouds.
I keep a blue flag hanging out my backside,
but only on the left side.
Yeah, that's the Crip side.

Ah Mew, I cannot sing your glories enough.
Ambience and that vanilla scent of last Spring and the same 3 mix CD's.
I am taken back, transcend time in fact, and am right back in that moment.
Strange what moments you recall with fondness...
They are always the small, seemingly insignificant ones that pass by without a second thought, but oh god, I miss that smell and that drive and that vinyl and that sun that just could not be kept at bay behind the mountains.
I miss the feeling of tranquility and the company and my, oh my, how things change.
Nostalgia is a blessing and a real bitch, for a moment cannot be bottled for consumption at a later date when you wish for just one more small taste of it. They say your tastebuds do not taste in full after 3 bites, and it has proven to be true, for I'd love for just one more, to relish the flavor in full anew.

Never thought I'd yearn for what was once a bore, a chore, for more.
So simple. So fleeting. So real.
Oh, to feel real and actual, to sincerely feel the blood coursing through your veins.

CARPE FUCKING DIEM.
I will one day yearn for today.

Everything I do is loud.
I listen to my music loudly.
I dress loudly.
I speak loudly.
I'm a loud-mouth.
My friends are loud.
I live loudly.
What is this life for if not to make a scene?
I will leave my loud imprint upon this planet.

I'm a character [I really am] in all of my glory.
I used to deny it. I once hated it.
And now, I embrace it.
I embrace those who embrace it.

Embrace.
I'm a touchy-feely person.
I hug frequently and with firmness.
I snuggle and cuddle and touchtouch.
I used to restrain myself. I used to hold back the urge.
But, why fight the urge to love?


It is a wonderful feeling... to love yourself,
to accept yourself, to know yourself, and so on and so forth.
It is welcomed and a breath of the freshest air.
Nowadays, I speak freely and dance no matter who is watching.
Comfort in one's own skin is crucial.
And, my skin is feeling ever-so-wonderful and fitting glove-like.


I need some excursions.
Pittsburgh is feeling rather cramped as of late.

Hot nights & hotter days. Jim Noir [whom I concur with... living in the key of C sounds wonderful]. Simply floating by is fine at times. And, I am doing just that, floating atop the waters of life hoping no one rocks my humble boat. This vessel is seaworthy and I have acquired my sea legs, though they did take much getting accustomed to and breaking-in. But me&Jim[&ChuckProphetlately] are done just fine by this pontoon.

Been responding interestingly to any hostility lately. No mutuality, just pity. Pity for those with hatred in their hearts. Pity for the spiteful, vindictive, petty. That existence must be a miserable one at the core. My core explodes in vibrations of love and rock and roll, spurting song and nectar. I dance through my days, stepping in rhythm to silent songs flowing from my heart into my ears. I have photographic vision, each moment a mental polaroid for posterity. Every individual encountered is inherently good&beautiful. What life must be like otherwise, I do not want to become familiar with. I do not wish to become bedfellows with negativity.

I have ere said that happiness is a choice.
Love is [also] a choice. [So numerous the choices we humans have!]

I don't assert this in the acid-soaked, Haight-Ashbury sense.
Rather as such:
Cut free your ties to ill will.
Let go of your bitterness.
Embrace those you cherish with the tightest of grips.
Turn a blind eye to the rest
[with a Chris Crocker-esque "It's a hair-flip!"].
Seek the common ground rather than acting as a separatist.
And, love.
Just, love.

oh, we Cassandra's of the world.
we need no one.
it is our greatest strength & our fatal flaw.
we are perfectly content going inside ourselves.
we are nomadic. we are emotionally nomadic. we are numb.
when we finally feel "love," we love with such fervor.
[you will have no better lover than a Cassandra.]
we find each other. we are drawn there; it is magnetic;
we can sniff it out in one another as dogs do.

you cannot get close to Cassandra's.
you cannot know us. itisnotpermissible.
you may think you can & we may tell you that you are.
but, you cannot, to (y)our dismay.

we devour people whole.
we collect we catalog we consume.
you cannot define decipher deter us.
and we. cannot. stop.
we try.
we fail.
wetrywefail.
but, oh, we try.

(we fail.)

I firmly stand by the bitter truth that we are all alone in this life, in a way.
We are all existing in our own solitudes.
Sometimes our solitudes find the solitudes of others,
and they are solitary together, simultaneously; synchronized solitude.
If you are in a room full of people, you are still solitary,
the only one with access to every aspect and essence of yourself.
Rilke even once said,
"Love consists in this, that two solitudes protect and touch and greet each other."

[Perhaps I'm just speaking for myself;
my walled-off, tongue-biting, facade-bearing self.
Truthfully, I can count those who I have revealed my true self to on one hand,
not even utilizing every finger upon that hand,
and have been let down in every instance and wished that I had not.
I quickly recoil and lock it back away,
until I am persuaded to dust it off again.]

I deeply cherish my solitude in a way.
It is entirely mine.
Perhaps I love it with too much intensity,
place too much pressure upon it,
because it, too, shall occasionally fail me.
On this date, every year, it fails me miserably,
and I end up experiencing a deep depression with night's onset,
with the onset of my solitude,
no matter how wonderful the day was.



Today is my birthday.

...and what is purr-fection, anyways?

I have found my stasis in instability afraid that stability will disturb the equilibirium don't shake my counterpoise by slowing me down I do not wish to change the way things have come to be.

Having trouble distinguishing between what is for the best and what will destroy, and longing with much more intensity for imminent destruction. Thejuiceisworththesqueeze [Idobelieveandhope?], butjuiceislacedwithhemlock.

It is tame and kitten-like, but I am like the lion. I ravage and roar and proudly display my mane to envious onlookers that paid their $10 admission. I preen and lick my paws and stack my body accordingly. Born Free, for certain. This pace is too slow & quickening is not foreseeable; it is not in the kitten's nature. The other is surely like the lion but personifies that Bill Withers tune of old and will be the demise of self and dignity.

What do I need, then?
All I know is:
I need Hot Chip and insanity and whirlwind nights and excitement and groovy times and those pretensious indie fucks and art and noise and eternal cataclysm and Leyendecker and earth-shaking, body-rocking experiences. MEOW.


I will jade you.
I will devour you.
Run.

how quaint it is to feel alive&beautiful&vibrant.

how peculiar a sensation, to breathe deeply and with anticipation of the next,
to make attempts to halt blinking, as a bat of an eyelash is a moment missed.

how marvelous a day, with the first sight being that of the sunbeams penetrating the sheerness of my curtains and creating a diffused glow upon my bedsheets.
i awake and trace their patterns with my fingertips.

i feel beauty all around enveloping me, swallowing me up;
beauty and fried rice and freshly ground coffee and mango tea and breezes and frequencies and a neo-coming-of-age and Rocky Votolato and kitsch and hope and incense and creation and such.

i haven't turned on my television in a week.
it's all just lies and alpha waves and flicker fusion and 300,000 dots of phosphorescent light.

i remember when the bugs were writhing beneath your skin,
and you howled and wailed and begged for mercy until sleep came.
but, my eyes had closed long before. i was living with them closed.
they are open now.
widewide open.

I could see myself living in the ocean

with nothing new to say

I've got a grievance with devotion

no matter where I sleep

I could see myself happy in my old age

with no one around to save

and no one above my grave

Every day I spin the globe and think of life somewhere else

This is a necessary evil that I found in myself

I could see myself cursing at the ocean

with nothing new to say

I've got a grievance with commotion

no matter how loud I scream

I could see myself happy in my old age

with no one around to save

There's no one above my grave

Every day I spin the globe and think of life somewhere else

This is a necessary evil that I found in myself

The sound of school bells ringing

makes its way into my head

Even when I find a place that suits me fine

Every day I spin the globe and think of life somewhere else

This is a necessary evil that I found in myself

-Paper Rival-

wind toussling&tossing my hair. Sondre on my stereo [Lerche, Lerche, hard at work-y]. perfumed smell of hundreds of various types of flowers blowing into my nostrils with ferocity. all while i speed down the highway with the setting sun performing a spectacular solar show and brushing my epidermis with a tingling warmth. this is heaven. this is perfection. this is serenity.

there's something about that solitude smile,
the one you only make in moments of inner peace&joy when alone.
it's a smile no one else can see or feel... ever.
it's solely yours until mortality.
and, it's the most pleasurable smile you ever smile.

haiku...

Oh sunshine,
Where the fuck are you?
It is May

When the elevator sputtered, jumped, and stuck,

my first instinct was to look around and decide

who we would consume first

in a Lord of the Flies fashion.

None of them looked appetizing.

I hoped I was too thin to be worth the kill.

Thank goodness it budged a few minutes later.

'Twould have been a difficult decision.

I need to stop getting almost everything I want.
It will ruin me for certain.
La vie has been ever so kind to me of late.
But la vie is a fickle friend, untrustworthy, wishywashy.
Must not fly too close to le sol & melt these wings of mine,
especially when it took so long to fashion them.

Carpe diem. Carpe noctem.
Still puff puffing, but the final page I have yet to reach.
Still sip sipping, but with less frequency and for proper reasoning.
Goodtimes with goodfolks. Have succeeded in positive-vibe-age quest.
[warm.warmer.disco.]
Am personifying tracks 12&13 of your brainchild, sir.

Still waxing philosophical at given opportunities.
Still slightly obscene.
Strange how the mind controls all.
Shoulders-downward is merely there for execution of its will.
[This week of rain should suffice to wash away any of the prior's malcontent.]
Strange how vastly things shift&drift within one year's time.
[My continents are in completely different hemispheres than ere.]

Tonight is for painting [of boxes of this nature],
for grooving [to Subtract the Ursine],
for more introspection,
for planning of plans,
for returning to the scene of the crime, as most murderers do,
[redrum.redrum.redrum.]
for disconnecting the dots.
[Come disconnect the dots with me, poppet.]

Out of tea. Out of time. Out of excuses.
[The first leaves the throat wanting.
The second leaves the body wanting.
The third leaves the ego wanting.]

The only promises that I don't keep are the ones I make to myself.
Now. Now.
Time for beginnings, or:
The smoke will keep impishly swirling,
Messes messy,
Empty pockets,
Below expectations,
And so on and so forth.
The first step is the most diffucult.
Subsequentstepsarecake.

Bad timing continues to reign supreme. Seems as if irony and bad timing are constants. And, oh, the smallness of thingsandplaces. I laughed heartily. I wasn't sure where the hilarity was or what caused the laughs to spring from within, but, oh, they sprung and boingboingboinged in the air. Another constant: the smallness of things amidst infinite largeness, or, the infallible smallness of things when largeness is required. One size does not fit all. [Growshrink before I go mad!]

Yet, am so happy.
Incomprehensible. Inexplicable. Present. Welcomed.
It really IS a choice...[to be happy, that is.]

cesser!

J'adore les cigarettes noir.
J'adore tout les cigarettes.
Non. Non. Non; Cesser!
Quit. Quit. Quit. Easyway.
Bonne chance de moi!


Ink forthcoming. Anxious Arms. Anxious necks&napes.
Extras becoming recurrent characters, reprising roles.
Lightscameraaction. [Don't get us cancelled.]
Success? En temps de temps.
Faltering in some areas, flying high in others.
Hard to focus on the prior when the latter brings such joy.
Chock it up to (in)experience.
I am young. I am vibrant. Watch me glow.


Oh, opposite sex, why do you plague me so?
SamenameX2.
Why must you share a name?
Names are unique identities, sense of self, and so on and so forth.
You share it, yet share no qualities (noticably as of yet).
What to do?; LSF, I suppose.

LSF, indeed.

Glass-Handed Kites in my ears.
Commencing the relaxing. Commencing the breathing.
Let go. Let go. Sometimes, I just must let go.
I am not proficient in the art of letting go.
[Control freak core, my magma is. Pardon it.]

I don't have much time left to soak up this jumble of small-town-meets-big-city; breathe in deeply. Commencing the exuding of good vibes, friendlies, and such. Bask in love. Bathe in it. Scrub with it. Brush my teeth with all this fucking love. Denny's. None of them there; drink much coffee and smoke many cigs.

Seeing the positivity in hard-work-meets-lack-of-control, in Mew and menthol. Ending the seeing of self as own puppet; cut the strings fuckfuckfuck. Move at will. Walk at will. Talk at will. Strut your shit at will.
Regain control by losing it, paradoxical for sure. Certain, for sure.
Learn when to open closed things; i.e. heart&mouth&mind.
Learn when to close opened things; i.e. heart&mouth&mind.
Radio must tune all three into perfect united frequency.
Cease the cacophony in their clashing;
makes the ears ache and the pillow less soft.

I have dues to pay and storms to weather to earn my sunshine.
Must let the clouds do as they will. Can't dismiss the clouds.
They're free-spirited and dance and rainrainrain at will.
[Bring an umbrella.]

I have decided to begin posting the track listings of the mixed CDs I make.
Steal them at will...


ROFL! LOLLERZ! Mix:

1) Tyrants by Black Mountain
2) You're Right by Paper Rival
3) Droppin' by Soft
4) All My Friends by LCD Soundsystem
5) Ready for the Floor by Hot Chip
6) Time to Pretend by MGMT
7) Good Day by Tally Hall
8) Ears Ring by Rainer Maria
9) Without MSG I Am Nothing by Mclusky
10) Pick Up the Boom by Utah!
11) We Do Not Fuck Around by Viva Voce
12) Disconnect the Dots by Of Montreal
13) Feels Good Being Somebody by Dios (Malos)
14) Into Your Head by Foreign Born
15) Imaginary Girl by Silver Seas
16) Now. Now. by St. Vincent
17) Atom by British Sea Power
18) Novel by Tim Williams

I have always been an extremely walled-off person.

I decided to give taking them down a shot.

I regret that decision.

Summon the builders, for up they go, again.

The words of others serve as the mortar,

their actions, the bricks.

Back to being an enigma.

Back to mistrust.

Back to hermitage, physical or emotional.

I will throw myself into my work, my schoolwork, my art, books.

I will pretend that those are enough for distraction and contentment.

My face will bear a blank undiscernable expression.

[Is she sad?/tired?/contented? Who knows?]

My words will resound hollow.

Understand, this is not a choice.

This is simply the nature of the beast within.

Self-preservation at its finest.

Those who avow to change it inevitably become the cause,

so please, no attempts.

"You've either got to amuse people or feed 'em or shock 'em."

- Oscar Wilde