Kings of Leon // Woo Hoo

I’m a restless little worker bee. Always thinking the grass is greener somewhere else, never realizing that every time I look back on my life I only see the good. A late-blooming optimist with burdens of a fake pessimist. Can’t I just be? My restlessness makes me nomadic and I wander all over the place never truly settling. My favorite place to be is in transit.

New York City is weird. I’ve done things I never thought I’d see in this lifetime. I fuck around with so many different breeds of people I’m beginning to question why. My motives? Please, they don’t even exist. I have no motives, just opportunities that fall into my lap. A person with heavy will would turn many down, but I can’t say no. And I confuse myself (and others) by my complicated theories and choosy wants. On one hand, I’ll steal you into a forbidden room and have my way with you only to politely abolish any hint of attraction the very following day. Sometimes, I convince myself to fuck with you through any written word, and then when I see you in person I continue these games for my own self pleasure. But you know I always cave and find myself naked in your shower after storming through your front door in a fiery burst of gregarious and exaggerated movements. A spiraling ball of chaos, sometimes my antics even surprise myself. Like that time in bed when I rolled over and made the first move knowing quite well this was much too intimate for us two friends to be sharing together. And I outwardly love these behaviors, but not everyone in my life approves.

I guess I’m exhausted of looking like the lost cause. People have come to my mercy and offered to help pay my way, provide for me, guide me. It’s so abundant and in my face that lately I can’t help but look inwardly at myself. Do they see something I don’t? I have so much fun in my experiences even if they sometimes are dangerous or morally inappropriate; but it’s a life noteworthy and exalting that it titillates every cell in my body.

There is this one itch I can’t get over. I want to move to the beach, somewhere exotic, and give up this life to take a mental detour. I want to work a shit-job and surf all day long. I want to own a jet-ski rental company and enjoy the freest things in life, with people who love to lay in the sun and drink everyday. It’s just for me. And I hope I get my shit together soon enough that my escapism can ravish my bones. I need money, I need to write about all of my ins and outs, ups and downs, and I need to stop giving a fuck about who I need to make happy. The only person I need to please is myself and in exchange I will give back to the community with good humor, good intentions, and a helping hand.

Basia Bulat // Before I Knew

You always think that you’ll be the best something.The best at math, the best tennis player, the best artist, the best at persuading people to give you free stuff – the best choice for someone else. And then there comes the day when you realize you’re second best, if that. And those visuals of trophies or dream jobs or holding the hand of the person you thought you were perfect for, well, those fantasies dissolve. And you soon begin to realize that you may never be the winner in any situation. you may just be the one who almost made it to the finish line first, or the “wrong-time wrong-place” person.

So the way you rationalize things in your mind slowly changes. You come to face that you are average and the thought of being on top – be it hooking up the hottest guy, getting with your best friend’s crush, keeping secrets hidden because you feel empowered, or trying your hardest to make yourself famous in modern media culture – well, it sort of fades away. It doesn’t matter anymore because you’ve gained valuable insight that you may not be aware of. So I’m going to tell you flat out what you have now that many other’s around you don’t.

You stopped competing.

Most likely you were unaware that your actions and decision making was a form of competition. But once you found yourself on the second-tier within your friends, lovers, coworkers – whatever – you stopped giving a shit if you were going to be the best/win/finish on top. Being burned and feeling defeat over and over made you realize one of two things: One, you can only trust yourself and never forget it in life. Two, you realize you could switch your thinking to bigger-picture social policy and cultural agenda.

And these societal ordinances end up getting the best from you because you stopped running in the rat-race for social fame. You break the habit of exploiting yourself to fight for the top-spot on the social ladder. And inadvertently, you then have removed yourself from inconsequential matters. And the point of it all is that once this happened, you acknowledged that what The Beatles alway preached in their pop-gushy songs was all you really need is love. And your heart widens uncontrollably. And you start to forgive and love despite all of the shit that you have to deal with from other people. But it’s not their fault so many of them are blindly (or very, very strategically aware) competing to be the best. This new world has crafted egos and manipulated us to embellish our happiness on social platforms that in so many ways have corrupted our most natural state of being. It’s robbery to the point of fraud.

And you realize that your happiness can always be remembered in nature and Mother Earth. You feel it in the heat of the summer with a blanket of stars above, and your feet can feel it even on the coldest day in New York City as the windchill tickles your cheeks. Because innately you are removed from caring about superficial capers. And now you’re brain is clear and free to munch on social gains that will actually benefit widespread cultural issues and not just a 2×4 box on your homepage with your 140 characters to build upon.

This is freedom. Not so much being “above” anything, but instead being on a entirely different communicative and philosophical plane. You are running in the wild free world now instead of investing most of your time on pages and likes, one-upping and empowerment, that is solely based on “winning” or beating others. And this is you at your best because you are done trying to find fame and popularity in meaningless prospects. If you feel me  by now, you should be smiling widely and loving yourself wholly.

Emma Louise // Jungle

I’ve slowed down on dreaming as of late. My visions are still filled with thoughts of grandeur, but I notice still my pace has fallen back. I think about my day-to-day and I now read more articles than books. I dream of living on a beach and still I fantasize, but even my thoughts of sex are slimmer. And I don’t like this/agree with it whatsoever.

And it’s because I have a job – and I like it very much and I love that it is in Manhattan. But this city never fucking sleeps and either do I. So I stay up late and roll into work just on time. My game face is on from there. Be it talking with clients, casually flirting, or pretending to solve very minuscule problems considering how many problems can my position really face?

So my visionary list of to-do’s and want-to-do’s must begin again. Here goes nothing.

Dreaming, running, creating, drawing, screenprinting, traveling, getting lost in fashion and music, shadows, children’s books, water and rafting, sledding, nudity, rooftops and bikinis, stretching, hot steam, slow breathing, massages, blowjobs, growing, smoking, photos, climaxing, holistic treatments, writing, searching for adventure, barhopping, getting into travel and food, new prospects, employment with friends, tattoos, big plans, big eyes, falsies, trying new toys and treatments, scar tissue building and shedding, recycling old favorites, new men in bed, finding women to kiss, trailing on never-ending dreams.

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.

Dr. Dog // Heart It Races

Up to the minute, the minute you’re up.

Newscasters always have really white teeth. The women in this ad are sporting the glossiest, fullest lips that look plump both top and bottom while both of the men look borderline gay; and they know it too well. Men newscasters never have nice lips I think. Jaundice cheeks stretch against big barrels of white cinder-teeth, starkly contrasting against their lack-of-lips. Gone. But you can’t just look at them without thinking what toolbags. But, framed between two hot women makes anyone second guess themselves.

And these women are gorgeous in the B-list way, but something in their eyes twinkles Slut. You can tell they are closet-deviants who like to fuck doggie style with their heads ramming against the back of a couch cushion while their mouths hang open in a slight-drool. The ironic thing is, we need fuckable women newscasters to address the nation. Like “look at me talk about terrible things happening in our world while you are eye-fucking me through my clothes”.

What color is her bra? Does she give good head?
Would she let me fuck her in my Ford Bronco?

All necessary thoughts one needs to consider while sipping hot coffee or trying to settle a very disagreeable morning wood. The kind that hurts because it is stopping you from taking a piss.

Sometimes I confuse myself with a guy. Like, all I think about is sex and fucking while living like a slobby, poor college guy pretending to be someone of significance. I probably think about whether or not I’d fuck a girl more than any dude. It’s just easier to compare women, especially pretending that I’m one of significance. I’ve had sex in enough bathrooms to realize that I’m not the go-to girl for class. Yet it’s always fun, so I try to overlook all the minor details.

The passenger to my left hates me. He may be reading this over my shoulder and guaranteed he wants to punch me in the teeth for listening to this song at least 9 times. 9 times for the past 22 minutes within a quarter’s width from a perfect stranger. My addiction to repetition falls only on music’s Park Place. Pass GO, score two points.

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