| ha-a ha ha ha ha |
[16 Aug 2004|01:25pm] |
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HI
I'M NOT HOME RIGHT NOW
BUT IF YOU WANT TO LEAVE A MESSAGE
JUST START TALKING AT THE SOUND OF THE TONE
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[21 Jan 2004|11:02pm] |
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music |
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what you'll never get a hold on |
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cause i have had something to prove
as long as i know there's something that needs improvement
and you know that every time i move
i make a woman's movement
and first you decide what you've gotta do
and then you go out and do it
and maybe the most we can do
is just to see each other through it
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[16 Dec 2003|01:45am] |
when you sing like hope sandoval make it a good sing
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[03 Jan 2003|03:05am] |
this bleak midwest scenery.
chicago still feels brave.
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[09 Dec 2002|07:24pm] |
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mood |
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into the kitchen & out the back |
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music |
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gate; circled in secrets, playing a game |
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g. d, d9, d. f. c. c. a. g. g. c. g. d. f. c. a. g. a.
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[10 Nov 2002|10:41pm] |
sigur ros was like the memphis belle on the mississippi at night in may. don't let it hurt you. on the train there was this man with this head that was shining like so much oil on concrete with tiny hairs and it made me think that everything was not beautiful. tell me it is. everything throws me off like i'm never coming at it like i should be. what about from behind his eyes & hers, theirs, nothing. we thought that we'd left posession behind. the meaning unmeaning remaking self from scrap clash. "people that can be defined less by who they are and more by what they do." nothing's coming to that. nothing's coming out of here but some strings and a wooden body.
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[28 Oct 2002|11:58am] |
headache for third day in a row. no school for 1283748th day in a row.
i want one thing, two things, three. something soft and warm. no ache.
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[26 Oct 2002|01:37am] |
there're pictures from old records on my bed because i was looking at them, feeling. i found chelsea last night trying to make her heart go back from pieces to whole. when i think about bodies i think about the orange zine laying on the floor beside my toilet and i think about how this cheapening occurs, how touch used to be special, how it sometimes still is, and how i can't say anything. all that i want to do is take pictures & live inside of these sensations like driving, taking a picture of driving, moving, taking a picture of moving, sleeping, taking a picture of my insta-punkrock hair, moving, not thinking, just, ugh. disastrously. today i'll drive my brother to a house by a church. the sky is grey, just like last time,. there is a gazelle here, insta-picture. insta-time. i want to live in the slices of feel. i do; after i left chelsea i went to steve's to see sarah for a minute and i didn't understand what was pulling down the atmosphere in that house. my shampoo smells like children's tylenol like december and lust; i almost didn't use it because it used to pull on my insides like hook&wires and i don't know this missing, i don't know what happened. nevermind.
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