Jukes // Something Important

You’re not mad at me, are you? I don’t know, you just seem like you’re acting weird. Look, how am I supposed to have an answer for you. I try the best way I know how. I’m realistic.

Today was the first day my house felt like home.
New York felt like my cushion that sort of props me up in bed. I was able to just sit and chill with some music and a friend. She was talking about music and girls she thought were soo beautiful. We had pasta and ate well in high spirits. I was thinking about that time at b’s that we finally did it but the door was open and your friend was sort of putting his shoes on in the other room. The craziest chills I got from you slightly putting it in before having to pull out really quickly before your friend saw us. You know we didn’t leave on bad terms. No one had said a serious “fuck off” yet in a screaming match. We only ever did that when we wanted to play with each other, me more than you.

Look. I’m into you. I really like you. I want to pick up right where we left off and just keep going in that direction. And I want to have ten thousand more memories with you so that I’ll have an actual number to count to so that this time I can figure something out before our time runs out. I would too. I’d choose you over everything else if I knew how bad I’d actually be hurting with you not here. This isn’t just like, “oh, he’s gone, that really sucks.” It’s more of a you’re not here so how many different ways can I try to make myself forget. And forgetting is harder than just admitting that I can’t really keep this up much longer.

It’s been some time now and you’re still heavy on my mind. Every time I ask you if you feel this too, you tell me I think too much. And then I feel like I did something wrong while feeling shitty about the person I am. And it makes me not like you as much because I’m not sure if you will ever just let me think without shaking your overwhelmed head. That’s important to me, you know. And I’m fucking sick of saying, “Well, your happiness is all that matters to me.” What lesson am I trying to preach this time? And to who? It’s pulling at me left and right, actually tearing me down this seam deep in my chest that physically thumps when I think about you being happy with someone else, scarier, without me.

I feel like I should mention that the other night I had this dream about your ex-girlfriend. She was playing this old vintage film from a projector on the side of her house, not recognizing that everyone on the street could see. Basically that scene from Problem Child if you even know the reference. But the film she had on was pictures of all my two best friends as she and her bitchy girlfriend laughed and pointed. And then my picture scrolled across the wall and she laughed harder just as you were walking into the room. And you sort of rolled your eyes and told her to turn it off as you set a tray of food down for them. And it didn’t matter to your ex that you had told her to cut the shit because she knew that in a few minutes tensions would settle and she’d be able to snuggle up in the nook where your chin and neck meet. And this dream has turned into an entire day’s nightmare, one that didn’t frighten me as much as shake my insides. And I couldn’t stop thinking about it all day long.

What we had was from another planet, so why are we just letting it go? I made you smile more in a day than in the past few months of your life. It was like finding out that you were born under a lunar eclipse the day I called you a moonperson. Or how about the night I met you, catching a bouquet and walking into a bar that I’d already written off. That wasn’t where we were supposed to meet, you know? We were there on accident, or purpose with poor planning. Because we never did get our chance to tear eachother apart while we were still in it. And now all we’re doing is at picking at the scab of what could’ve been. But I’m not mad at you. I’ll stop worrying about why you’re treating me like this because I know it’s easier to be mean to the people we care about, but can’t be with. I’ll take all of your whiplash until you’ve run out. Maybe then I’ll have enough in me to entirely forgive you.

Advertisements

My Morning Jacket // Wordless Chorus

How come musicians are some of the worst dancers? They create the entire show. Actors and actresses in costumes pretending to move that way naturally. It seems a little forced considering no one who warrants attention actually seeks it. It’s just a natural phasing.

And why are we awkwardly linked to people we accidentally become best friends with. Like hey! It’s orientation week and I have no friends, so I’ll cling to you because you also are friendless. Then we pair off inseparably for a two week span before finding our more realistic click, trying hard to forget the former bond just to erase the embarrassment.

Too many people I do this one too. I’ll figure them all out before actually meeting them – see them around, listen to them speak while in the same class, trying to not look in their emerald eyes when I see them in person even though I’ve seen like ten-thousand pictures on my computer. It’s weird how we live. Because then you meet these enigmas in real-life and they usually sort of suck. But it’s hard to really forgive yourself for thinking they were something greater than their reality.

Sometimes I think about why I like lace too. Lace feels best on my breasts. Every slight movement in lace makes for a caressing, faint massage. Especially in sensitive regions, it can be quite pleasurable. I like to dress up for myself sometimes. Wear my raciest underwear to a mundane work day, sometimes even to the gym. I like pretending I’m a lot of things, but maybe I need to start understanding that I’m not playing house – maybe this is my real life and my real mannerisms.

I once saw a video of myself and it was at first intimidating because I was talking to a fake audience at my camera. But I kept replaying the video because I really liked dissecting my lips and my decanting slur that I realized, maybe I just like myself.

And I do. Enough to know when to give what you are given. Thus, cleaning out a rusted refrigerator, sharing the dinner I then made, while beforehand, smoking up my roommates. Something had to give, and it was me.

Feel good always even if you’re chorus isn’t as wordless but as pointless as can be. At least you’re free.

J.Period K’naan // Relationships Lay

I long to see you in the morning light.

Whatever colors you have… in your mind. dum dum dum

I had it all figured out with you. Cut you off cold-turkey. Quick and the most painless. But something crept in late at night as I laid dreaming, looking at the stars outside my window. I longed to see you underneath them on some gritty terrain, fossilized by the whirling nightly winds and swooshing waves as she sang her lullabies. She softened my hardend shell and let me rest my shoulders. My neck relaxed and my fingers tingled out of their numbness. The blood was rushing back to my arms and legs and I began to feel your presence. I wanted to smile and bounce on my toes as I drifted through the day. I was warmer towards all walks of people, thinking of others before myself. I wanted to hum every second because silence was too mundane. And you were full of color and blushing scents.

And I remembered just why I couldn’t keep you out. When I was with you it was broken down into seconds, like time was opening it’s house to us. And when I talked to you by phone your voice was just enough to keep me waiting until I could see you. And now that my time with you has to be shared with things that are out of our reach, it makes those warmest memories something bitter. A cold chill comes and I want to shout at you because I don’t know the next time I can hear you, let alone see you… And my instant reaction is to block you out so I don’t have to feel. But I want to feel, especially the goodness you always offer. Why leave that great attraction and mutual enjoyment outside in the frozen? You can be all good things to me even if I can never keep you.

I guess it’s safe for me to admit, that I rather keep a piece of you even if it can never be the whole of you. And a piece, while small, can fill up more voids than with you gone.

 

And I like smiling. After all is said and done, I’m happy just doing whatever it is that keeps me dreaming, believing, fantasizing, lusting, and making me float.

 

Born To Die // Lana Del Rey

Lana Del Rey.

Where your voice takes me is somewhere in a field of sunflowers running barefoot and blindly. The air is soft and my mind is in the heavens spinning in figure 8’s. I’m dying in pleasure. Every fiber of my skin tingles with thousands of nerve-endings working overtime. Buzzing, waving, swimming around in my veins are bursts of colors and radiations that only my eyes and his can see. We are lost in this eternal field, abandoned only to the bliss of this exact moment. Each second is ten-thousand rainstorms sizzling hot pavement with puddles cooling the skin of our feet. He brushes my shoulder with his finger and as soon as he leaves I go into withdrawl.

How can I live here forever I wonder. I don’t want to go but the moon is knocking on sky’s door asking to be let in, if only for a peak. I love the moon too!  but I want this day to mark the calendar every year. So I keep running with the air as my sleigh into the forbidden saga that has become my effervescent mind.

I once was called out for my philosophical questions. These thoughts were too outlandish for him. I liked him too much to tell him that that one sentence forever contaminated the secret garden I had been tending to so he didn’t have to leave. But my daydreams were starting to corrupt my reality and I had to cease all measures before they escaped forever. So as he questioned my overextended thoughts I swallowed it as a blessing for still loving him through and through.

Home Again // The Disco Biscuits

I am a bird bound to nothing but the sky itself. Life can be heavy when it should be light. Is this philosophy? Or am I just floating..

I never question my confidence anymore, nor do I think anyone should. When you recognize how beautiful you are, your soul frees itself from any barriers or inhibitions. We are all just stardust. It’s so simple that we try and rationalize it with confusion and mystery. It’s life. Glorious each wayward day, yet mad for it’s own existence.

When I get low, like, lower than one should ever get, I remind myself of the way I can make people laugh from deep in their bellies. What my memories are made of is like a scrapbook with all the remnants of Neverland.

I’ve traveled all over this beautiful country building fires on top of volcanoes while sleeping next to craters formed by explosions from our ancient sky. I drank whiskey til my eyes watered while attempting to chop kindle. The soles of my feet are weathered and blackened from walking barefoot in every direction: winter, spring, summer and fall. My eyes have seen the bluest waters known to man where I’ve dunked my head deep in it’s salt and tried to imagine breathing. I’ve climbed mountains and swallowed the cleanest air, while having surfed both of our sibling oceans at each coast. Summer nights are like a dream; never enough hours even when my eyes have wanted to fall out of my head.

Moonshine is a thing of my past, present, and future. Seeing live shows while running through the crowd on Mollie makes me believe the night is my playground. Sprinting from rooftop to rooftop while lalala’ing is a constant source of enlightenment. I curse the wind when it bites me, but never when a man does. My home is where I laugh the most, where my brain is expanded, where everything out of sorts just falls into place. Sometimes it’s just for a night, sometimes it’s at the base of a waterfall, and sometimes it’s when I’m naked on my back trying not to think about the rising sun.

Glorious times call for glorious measures. I will take anyone under my wing who never wants to miss a moment, and I welcome the unbound to hunt me down. I love life and all of the ups and downs, but more the ups because I like jumping from stars to planets and never having to swallow the You Missed Out pill.

One thing’s for sure. I’ll make you cringe from exhaustion, make you multiply all the energy you have into bundles of tens, make you hit and punch walls from frustration, and make you curse from pleasure right when you can’t handle anymore. This I can promise, but I swear that it will be worth your while.

Call it what it is, I’m not excusing my behavior ever again.

Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com.