Sound that Swims Through Your Veins and Love

MUSIC, MAN. 

So, there is phenomenal, novelty music coming to a car, ipod, and (hopefully) concert speaker near you. 

1. First of all, Weekend of the Vampires. And I'm not fucking talking about that New Moon bullshit. I am speaking of the elastic, spiraling sound that comes from The Ezra Koenig and Co. I have only listened to "Cousins" and "Horchata" from their much-anticipated sophomore album "Contra," however, they're fucking ace. And the music video for "Cousins"- shitfuck. 

2. Next-> Mister Jack White. Hello. Hello. Helllllllllllo. I've missed you. Don't know much about this except that they will be recording new shit at the end of 2009 and a hopelessly-needed new album should be the product of White's delicious fruit. 

3. Marina and the Diamonds- Brilliant. Lyrics like, "Ten silver spoons coming after me, one life with one dream on repeat." Even shooting up a Star Wars' adage into the pulsing, ignorant vein of pure, harmonic bliss "Do or do not, there is no try." YESS. The result? Tori Amos? Nah. Regina Spektor? No. The Wales native is not naiive to the note-bursting, key-topping music of those populars mentioned above. Nothing like it. What's it like? It's chaos, it's watermelons- IT'S EVERYTHING. 

Recommended: +I'm not a Robot

     +Mowgli's Road

     +Obsessions

"It strolls our veins so effortless, and keeps us entertained and interested."   -   Living

And I Can't Lift You Up cause my mind is tired

A smog

of sawdust and cigarette smoke penetrates my nose.

 Groaning stairs beneath my feet voice

 my concerns.

 A tired

hall welcomes me

with the illumination of lights and faces.

Beneath the enlightenment lies a constellation

 of humanity: wishing

 to find themselves through the bar and the dancing.

The generated air is stale,

 and dying

to be let out.

It’s trapped, as desperate as young children

who yearn to be older.

Its quiet companion,

 the walls, don’t give away any of the stories they’ve witnessed and

cradled these many years.

Tornadoes of nostalgia,

people old and young are creeping on the past.

Every muscle, every bone, is moved

by love.

Leaping and diving with every fiber

of their beings,

bodies sing and swoon with

the fullness of tomorrow.

Duke Ellington,

maharishi,

begs us to stay just a little longer.

I'm Glad I'm Not Gonna Be That Kid

Did you just insult me with Patrick Park lyrics ?

Is It Ever Easy?

Bits from the work. 

It brought her back to that swirling, cathartic time she spent the night in the tent in Leigh’s backyard. It was raving, spitting rain that took its last wind of ravage on the little tent that could. All seven goons had left except for her and her quite possibly narcoleptic friend, Clare.  The tent had all but completely collapsed; the roof balancing on an invisible tightrope an inch above her face. And with Clare swooning in her dormant unconscious, she felt completely alone. It was swollen heat, selfishly adapting to every nook and cranny of her personal space in the tent. At any given moment, the storm fighting and letting down on the tent’s emaciated coat above her, she felt like she could die. It was so awkward, yet realistic: it was the one sincere moment in her life she could keep, think back on, and remember as a time she had survived within her thoughts. 

Wait. They Don't Love You Like I Love You.

I don't know what I want to do with my life, but I know what I like to do. And somehow I need to translate that into a concrete career 

Peace(bone) with You

To-DO List:

1. Do good. 

2. Go into the wild. 

3. Make a birth certificate for Lil' Heaven. 

4. Walk on sunshine.

5. Make other people feel important.

6. Get a short story published.
7. Learn how to play Beirut, Animal Collective, and Neutral Milk Hotel on guitar and make some covers. 

8. Get my shit together for speech.

9. Develop the Jamal language.

10. Rock and roll. 

This Year's Love

There's one thing I'd like to say, so I'll be brave:

You were what I wanted, I gave what I gave.

I'm not sorry I met you,

I'm not sorry it's over,

I'm not sorry there's nothing to say.

I'm not sorry there's nothing to say. 

Now it's day, I've been trying to get that taste off my tongue

It's so weird when you dream about someone. Like a ridiculously vivid, awkward dream involving a person you maybe hooked up with one time last year and don't speak to anymore or maybe lent a pen to in class that one time...that person. And the dream itself is pretty fucked up and usually involves a sail-boat, small, Chinese men and murder- but it all just makes sense. You know. 

But the weirdest part of the whole thing is not even the dream itself or the infamous, fuckin' rando guest star, it's what happens after the dream. And I swear on my failing, flailing, falling body that you will have some weird run-in with your "guest star" post-dream. And when you do, you're going to freak out. When you see them, they will look at you like "Dude, why the fuck was I in your dream last night?!" Like they fucking know. And they do. Not really. But in your dreamer daze, you're paranoid and wonder why you seriously had a dream about them and if they ever have dreams about you. Because that's, like, so fucking creepy. Right? Or is it cool and maybe even a little romantic?

"In Dreams Begin Responsibilities."

Everything Happens

In New York.

"People are crazy and times are strange, 

I'm locked in tight, I'm out of range,

I used to care but...things have changed."

It's not good anymore. 

I've been doing way too much...stuff. Stuff that accumulates into the typical "collegiate experience." But all of this, it's just not good. Two semi-pseudo-interventions later, I finally kinda sorta see what's going on. For the past two or so weeks, I've been huffing and puffing myself out. Every fucking day. I don't even know why, I just don't fucking care. I don't even care about this post, I'm just posting this emo shit because I need to pinpoint and record this fleeting, concrete feeling. And what could that be? Fucking indifference. When you are so fucking close to getting that one thing- love- and it...just...doesn't....come.....together- it reaches inside of you and takes it out of every fiber of your being. (Basically, it sucks). And it sucks even more than having it with somebody, and losing it. Because at least then, you have an actual womb of memories to cling to in the infant hours of the morning when you're alone. And I don't know about you, but that's a hell of a lot more than the silent killer, "what if?" A hell of a lot more. 

So, I found myself tonight in the ever-perennially long line of students waiting to inhale some grub late at night. I saw one of those "hey, what's up? nothing, you?" friends sitting alone, so focused, studying. I had some glorious white widow waiting for me in Bobby's car with my friends. (Obviously a good time). And yet, I was so fucking envious of that girl studying. To find that motivation, hope, and belief- and then be able to keep it- is something that is so beyond me. I can't hold onto anything. 

On another note, da White Stripes have some new shit out. finally.

And another, PBS has gotten into the habit of featuring olddd school Bill Cosby stand-up stuff late at night. So old school, it's pre-ugly-sweater era. Creepy. 

"Should've known you'd bring me heartache, almost lovers always do." - dece song, ace words. 

Jade?

Alexander...

Do you remember that day you fell outta my window?

I sure do you came jumping out after me.

Well, you fell on the concrete and nearly broke your ass and you were bleeding all over the place so i rushed you off to the hospital. Do you remember that?

Yes I do.

Well, there's something I didn't tell you about that night.

What didn't you tell me?

While you were sitting in the backseat smoking a cigarette you thought was gonna be your last, 

I was falling deep, deeply in love with you, and I never told you til just now.