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it wasn’t a nightmare; i think d. boon was there. i was definitely asleep; they said i wasn’t heavy and weak. all i remember is your hate, hate, hate. it’s like i’m in high school again: hate, hate, hate.
misogyny- don’t call it biology/homophobia protected by tradition (that’s the worst one, tradition).
call me mr. amateur because i’m dumb, complacent and young. i’d say i’m over living in the town of “someday, son’. there’s a few things on my mind today: “i do care, i do care, i do care” the dream was real enough to not lose face with dr. jung.
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dear business man, i wish i had your guts. i’m spineless, bleeding and definitely not weightless. dear george crum et al., nothing fits right. i’m looking for heaven in plainly illustrated destruction. dear estate agent, i wish you could sell my fear. i’ve not made a will because i willfully think no one wants to hear,
“where’s my brain tonight? my head’s on fire and i fight ambiguity for something so obviously not right. it’s not right. crown my mind now: ‘king of opacity.’”
dear business man, i wish i had your wit. i’m clever, but too weathered by your kind to stay with it. dear george crum et al., it’s not your fault. i’m just doing this thing called “complain about something so small”. so, obviously…
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i think the composer has the best seat in front of the symphony: she can see their mistakes. i think the cashiers have the best seat for the view of my mental state: he can charge my mistakes.
i never understand; i’ve got something to tell you that’s in my head.
im not unlike freudian theory, boring and humor free and kinda weird. i think that it was once endearing, but now i’m learning: it’s the worst part of me.
it’s not for me- it’s because of me i never learned how to speak.
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some guy told me, "i don't listen to the ramones anymore. they used to be okay but my taste got stale and i got old."
so, i made a mental note, then i, took out my pocket book, then i, made a list of what not to become: that asshole is number one.
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going out of my mind and it’s right on time. the transition from orange to nothing sounds fine. it’s fair, it’s beautiful, then it leaves. i’d know more but i can’t stand the chemistry.
i can forget myself; put me up on a shelf. it’ll take stilts to get over this. i can blame myself but what’s the point. the weather will reign and that’s the point.
i’ll get the time but it’ll take time. i’ll lose this dread and fear another year.
there’s no such thing as winter, it’s just summer with more introspective days. let’s try that one again, there’s no such thing as winter, it’s just summer with more static in my brain.
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i’m living in conservative hell. no! to dignity, no! to health. i’m flailing with curtis commency. i’m living in chip hell. no! to dignity, no! to health. i’m dining with curtis commency; eating fragile dreams in dusty sleeves.
i’m having a nervous shakedown. my stupid legs are dangling in the wind (in the wind). my clown shoes fall and i’m clumsy again. i’m nerving a habit shakedown. the walls in my room are sweating “leave”. ascertained entertain. i don’t smoke but i’m coughing alone.
is it good looking people? is it their suits that make me hate everything i do.
i’m living in conservative hell. no! to honesty, no! to health. i’m swinging with curtis commency. i’m living in chip hell. no! to quality, no! to health. i’m laughing with curits commency; spitting clumsy words sewn by sensitive teeth.
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i’ve got my phd in clown faces but i don’t know what it means. the papers were signed by shaky hands lacking prudence but not degrees. i’ve got embarrassments in my head; my clothes speak in “don’t talk to me”. the reality is, a smile means anything but honesty.
but hey, that’s comedy. that’s all right, that’s okay. he bleeds blue and red with a shade of apathy.
i’ve found normal in weird places but i don’t know what that says. they laughed, i tried, but my aching head tells me, “get some rest”. i’ve got a collection of regrets; i teach a class called jealousy. the sad part is, i teach what i know- it’s mostly me.
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everything sux and i don't want to grow up
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9. |
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can’t carry my weight let alone a tune. can’t wait to want to leave this room. it’s september 1st and i need to wake up; get over the sun.
i doubt a disguise; it’s in their eyes. i’m not going anywhere tonight. no one’s fake, everybody’s great. i’m staying wrong tonight.
a sad song does nothing but leave you empty. i don’t need a melody to remind. let’s be happy and forget about everything else; let’s be oblivious.
it was a joke that no one took and now it’s a mess. i’m just a joke that no one took but i’m trying to stay positive.
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they called him the golden boy; he had an eye for shiny toys. made of his fathers heart; always at odds with his mothers skin. tolerable in sight but crooked within. inspired by a churchhill quote mixed with his love for informal doubts. reality spoke to him in spades about not knowing how to end. the problem is he knows how to begin.
he’s mostly scared that he’ll become one of them. a bleeding heart with a left swing. he’s just a kid that hates to fit in.
“i’ve got a brain full of hecklers and thoughts that don’t buy i word is say,” still he contrived enough angst to make some people change their hearts, their minds, everything he prayed.
he’s not beautiful but he’s got a watch his father gave him as a present when he was ten. yeah, i’d say that’s a good age to value time and priceless things. let’s embrace him until he tears us apart with wisdom and fears he keeps. he’s done with the waiting room, the politics, and the alienation innate. he may not be welcome but he’ll always wonder if they let the right ones in…
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this is a collection of songs i recorded over a year with varying success.
drums recorded on a yamaha rx-15 drum machine (thanks joel gray); i played out a beat on them then overdubbed kick and cymbals.
this will have a limited physical release by the end of summer and any donations will help fund it.
