I just don't know

five months and eight. not that anybody's counting.

Mon, 19 Jul 2004 05:52:12 GMT

What a fucking trip.
(In that "Shit! My kneecaps!" sense, of course..)
See, I'm not supposed to be the one onstage.

Listen to the Gossip, babe, but don't let the rest of them lie you into honesty:
deception is intoxicating,
meat still tastes better than politics in real life,
and maturity is definately a by-product of sick misadvertising.

umm. four months and three days.

Sun, 13 Jun 2004 23:52:24 GMT

darling, that really isn't healthy..

officially barred from rockstardom or orgasam or having fantastic thoughts about ~~you~~ new boys. and cigarettes - no more of those.

floss daily,
don't smile at the strange men,
take your pills on time,
move more onstage,
don't give away your hand,
eat,
but don't finish all the goldfish crackers,
remember where you're coming from,
don't walk on the grass
(with your boots on),
love the faults,
stop talking about having sex with girls,
learn to enjoy bran,
stop having sex with girls,
throw away all the broken and sharp things,
tone the thigh muscles,
put away his pictures,
get a job,
take time for long songs and hugs.

This is just the gunshot of things.

What is it about the horrible things we humans do,

Sun, 09 May 2004 21:11:25 GMT

That makes us cringe and swoon and smile? Keep reading.
Web pages popping up and down, about the amazing 60 year old, singing, dancing, all-purpose theatrical gender-bender whose show I saw last night, and Charles Manson. I'm listening to the screamy sitar Beatles, covered in graphite and amphetamine sweat and little trickles of leaked hope.

Glass Candy at Neumo's last Friday. I've never wanted to use a gun before.

Manilla colored tape boardering all of my official art and holding together the pictures I need to sleep with to sleep, 7 minutes and 46 second long cell phone messages of nothing but static and distorted voices talking about rainforest destruction, corporate responsibility, and American overconsumption patterns. If I didn't know better I'd say my subconscious was trying to set a lunch date.

This moment is all you have. And this one. Live in it. Make it your Jungian castle. Job applications and methadone and smog and cars and haircuts and piercings and the religious right.

This is fucking reality, man! Don't, like, fuck it up.

Mon, 03 Nov 2003 01:43:30 GMT

Everything You Want
Vertical Horizon

Somewhere there’s speaking
It’s already coming in
Oh and it’s rising at the back of your mind
You never could get it
Unless you were fed it
Now you’re here and you don’t know why

But under skinned knees and the skid marks
Past the places where you used to learn
You howl and listen
Listen and wait for the
Echoes of angels who won’t return

Chorus
He’s everything you want
He’s everything you need
He’s everything inside of you
That you wish you could be
He says all the right things
At exactly the right time
But he means nothing to you
And you don’t know why

You’re waiting for someone
To put you together
You’re waiting for someone to push you away
There’s always another wound to discover
There’s always something more you wish he’d say

Chorus

But you’ll just sit tight
And watch it unwind
It’s only what you’re asking for
And you’ll be just fine
With all of your time
It’s only what you’re waiting for

Out of the island
Into the highway
Past the places where you might have turned
You never did notice
But you still hide away
The anger of angels who won’t return

Chorus
I am everything you want
I am everything you need
I am everything inside of you
That you wish you could be
I say all the right things
At exactly the right time
But I mean nothing to you and I don’t know why
And I don’t know why
Why
I don’t know

Shackled
Vertical Horizon

For so long my life’s been sewn up tight inside your hold
And it leaves me there without a place to call my own

I know now what shadows can see
There’s no point in running ’less you run with me
It’s half the distance through the open door
Before you cut me down
Again
Let me introduce you to the end

And I feel the cold wind blowing beneath my wings
It always leads me back to suffering
But I will soar until the wind whips me down
Leaves me beaten on unholy ground again

So tired now of paying my dues
I start out strong but then I always lose
It’s half the distance before you leave me behind
It’s such a waste of time

Chorus
’cause my shackles
You won’t be
And my rapture
You won’t believe
And deep inside you will bleed for me

So here I slave inside of a broken dream
Forever holding on to splitting seams
So take your piece and leave me alone to die
I don’t need you to keep my faith alive

I know now what trouble can be
And why it follows me so easily
It’s half the distance through the open door
Before you shut me down
Again
Let me introduce you to the end

Chorus

Though you know you care

Chorus

And my laughter
You won’t hear
The faster
I disappear
And time will burn your eyes to tears

Why is it is SO FUCKING EASY to find the lyrics to bad music.. and not easy to find recordings (let alone lyrics) of my favourites?

shellshocked, it's the way that you walked...

Thu, 22 May 2003 03:33:20 GMT

i have decided that i will be a painter.
and if i didn't already know a girl who had changed her name to Mark, i would change mine. Marc Chagall. lucid colors and realistic surrealism.

if i could remember my dreams, they'd look like that.

despite my newfound career-revelation, everything felt so funny today. it's like i have to keep reminding myself "i'm alive," "this is my life i'm living."

don't fuck it up...

you have no idea how hot'n'bothered i am right now.

Wed, 30 Apr 2003 04:00:12 GMT

oh man, whatever happened to the Talking Heads?

i saw the Dancing Boy in london, though a window, but it didn't matter

Wed, 23 Apr 2003 17:22:07 GMT

there's this boy i've seen around, skinnying around my city with his messed up bleachy blotch hair and thin fingers, and we bonded in a bus isle over an apology and crushed foot. mine, i think.

you know the fiddlehead part of ferns when they're still babies? that's what his eyes looked like.

you know what fucker? i love you too..

Fri, 21 Mar 2003 23:06:52 GMT

i am SO in love with the very idea of [all of] you.

thousands of people holding my hand, leaving trampled question marks in the sand as we stroll, dying for love. dying for peace. dying.

we would die for each other, and wouldn't even consider monogamy. that's the way this world works, baby.
welcome to the '90's.

and we are so fucking poetic.

if smashing pumpkins is "dog" spelled backwards, what am i?

Fri, 24 Jan 2003 19:24:28 GMT

i wish i knew someone named moses.
oh well.

sundance was full of cold and stars and popping film and cigarettes.
i fell in love with the whole damn thing.

rest in peace, you beautiful being

Tue, 24 Dec 2002 01:37:32 GMT

my god, i loved him. if i were male i would have a Clash cover band, and i would pretend to be Joe, strutting in black pants and boots, my hair greased back. warbling and spitting and making a god-awful, beautiful, powerful, pro-active noise.

lord, we need another Joe Strummer.

Sun, 22 Dec 2002 01:56:27 GMT

gosh...

okay? are we all okay?

[Smile sweetly, Baby.] I'll let you know where I'm at

Wed, 18 Dec 2002 02:23:57 GMT

Solice, darling, solice.
I swear that's all that I'm seeking.