Comfort

I was so much more comfortable there with that blanket over my eyes.
It was so much warmer. But now I feel the cold and I can see the world for miles,
and comfort is just convenience and the putting-off of things I know to be true.
So we could have lain in that bed I built and made mountains from the sheets,
but I watched your chest raise and lower to let in ships, I watched mine sit in piece.
I know something about finding out. Its the curse of the thirst for knowledge.
I’ve seen clouds on fire and buildings fall. I’ve had planes crash in my mind.
I made it for the better even though it should have been for the worst.
I sat in those white rooms and I filled myself with words.
Words don’t move buildings, not mine anyway,
but they could inspire giants to lay this town to waste.
I was so much more comfortable there, in between those sheets,
but comfort is an illusion and now I can finally see.

To the bones.

She’s like a sunrise or sunset in the way that she’s as beautiful as she is fleeting. Her penchant for orange really just helps this analogy. She kissed like the rain, which is fine at most times, but when you’re saying goodbye you kind of hope for the ocean. “Kiss me like the Pacific”, but the closest she can get is the cold shoulder off the Atlantic coast. I walked away wondering exactly what just happened and how I could, for all intents and purposes, feel nothing but a sense of relief. I loved her but not like you do when you’re in love, or the closest you’ve come in your young life. It was more like a good movie. No matter how much you love it you can only watch it so many times in a row before you see it for what it really is. Fake. But you can’t be upset because at least the movie presents itself as such. If communication is key then you’re just fumbling with locks all day. I’m a windstorm and you’re flickering like a flame. This is a case of words presented as action. (“Your honor, the state would like to call Indifference to the stand.”) I need something tangible. It’s never the ocean.

1/21/08

I’m a broken radio or television or something else. I guess I’m saying that, sometimes, I just can’t connect. I feel like my seams are showing, I’ve got such obvious threading. Cut here to make me unravel. I’m like a time bomb in that you never know which wire. (Correction: I never know). I go back and forth between blues and greens while I sweat and sweat and hear nothing but the beeps and beats. 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 and I’m gone. 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 and I just go on and on. I don’t know how to stop. You’re magic like a movie and I’m just indifferent like indie rock. Let’s take over this city. I’ll write my name on every ticking clock. Cut here to dismantle these bones. Cut here and I’ll give up everything I believe in but hope.

Emailing these fucks up the formatting, I'm not having a good day.

One time I had this dream last night where I was in my apartment, but not my apartment because it was a giant penthouse with giant windows. I looked around and that guy was there with the silver mask that's sometimes scary but he was just hanging out but it still made me nervous. So I went outside and it was all green and wet like it maybe just rained but it wasn't humid at all outside but then I was back at my place. Okay, again, its not my place but it looks like the place of that cool teacher that rides the motorcycle on Boy Meets World but it had red walls and orange shag carpeting. I looked over at my friend Alf (the alien that eats everything, you know?) and he was talking about physics like in 11th grade when I drew that comic book about cartoon science but that's not the point. I looked up and Alf was gone and you were there and naked. I got that funny stomach feeling staring at you talking to me, you just looked so Beautiful and I was intent on the way your mouth moved but then all we did was fuck.

--
jude via sidekick

But then sometimes

You just have to give up.

Sometimes.

I don't really know why I even bother.

I'm just not cut out for things like this and I guess it may be
obvious.

It must be obvious.

--
jude via sidekick

I Wrote This Because I Hate It When You're Sad, It Really Bums Me Out, And I Hate Being Bummed, Asshole.

Just because you hate yourself doesn’t mean you have to hate the world so maybe you should kill yourself like you say or just be fucking happy. It’s really not that difficult, I promise you, because I’ve been through stuff like you’ve been through and, yeah, I spent some time in the hospital, what a lot of good that did me. They just pump you full of medicine to help you clear your head but then your head’s so clear you can see straight through and you’re so fucking boring. So take some time and just be sad and realize life isn’t as bad as you always seem to make it or make it out to be and that you have friends and people love you and that the reason you only have negative things is because you breed so much negativity. I guess what I’m saying is to cut your hair how you want and love the girls that love you back and keep your head up when you’re losing sleep and take up something productive like biogenetic engineering because then you could make a bunch of you and maybe one would get life right and you’d also be really good at science.

The cast, in order of appearance...

You wake up too early. It morning, you’re freezing. Some toothpaste and a shower. A polo-shirt and your dirty jeans. Then out the door, making good time, so you stop for coffee. You live life in paper. Your desk is crumbling. A rhino and penguin, highlighters and paperclips. A broken fan and last year’s calendar next to long list of numbers. You’re almost as white as the walls, you’re definitely as empty. But maybe, just maybe, she can save you. That’s what you’re thinking. “Tonight, she’ll save me.” You write thoughts down on stolen post-it notes. You glance around to make sure you don’t get caught. “They mean something to me.”

2008

Happy New Year. Its a cold night with cold streets and the coldest feet you've ever seen...or felt, I guess. She had the reddest lips. The whitest dress. And you couldn't say a thing. She was so...A) Beautiful B) Unique C) Stunning D) All of the above? I think we all know the answer here. And you...you were so scared. "How?" That's what you ask yourself. "How could I be so scared with all of this weed/alcohol/caffeine in my system. I am so invincible/funny/perfect." You can't say a word. And there she is. Smiling at you. Looking. She's still looking. You smile back. She looks away at her friend who looks at you and smiles to her. And you can't say a thing. Happy New Year in 3...2...1...its cold tonight. Her lips were so red. Your face was so...there. That's it. You exist without existing in 3...2...1...the whitest dress. And you couldn't say a thing. But you felt it. You recognized it. Happy New Year.

--
jude via sidekick