spinning

song
faded high by GAYNGS


the weekends are never fun unless you spin around in circles on a baseball bat
then you stumble around trying to run and you arent worried about having fun
the only worry you have is trying to get the world to stop spinning so fast
but thats the trick because the world is always spinning you just cant feel it
centrifugal force or some other bull shit physics thing (just kidding physics arent bs)
wild combination of trying to sort through theoretical spinning and physical spinning
one of these days things will stop spinning and i hope that day i am wearing a shirt

Cellophane

Song
Wanting Her Again by Ben Kweller

Cellophane

This is beginning to feel like... You know what I'm saying
You don't really know... But you don't say anything
Mainly cause you don't care... What is the point of analogizing
Wrap me up in analogies... Like with a blanket  or cellophane
Cellophane... Thats like stretchy plastic shit that makes you mad
How is that for analogizing... Just making points of reference
This is beginning to feel like... It is wrapped around my face

Ironing

Song: 
Too Much by Sufjan Stevens


Ironing by Ryan Adams


the heat
on the bottom
binds new things
to old
like us



strike through: no idea what this means or why you would have it as an option but here it is


Ok done striking through for now, but maybe I will use it later when I want something deleted, but I want people to know what I deleted (that would make it not deleted). Been trying to write lately has not been going well. It feels forced, contrived, and or just like shitty shitty writing. I think part of this has to do with me being hard on myself and trying to find my personal style avoiding cliche. Our lives are flooded with cliche it is hard to avoid. Sometimes when I write I think why does this matter I sound like every other immature depressed teenager that ever wrote anything down. The problem is I am 24 and supposed to be responsible and worried about getting a job and being a grown up. Maybe I am just an immature teenager got left a little behind. Sorry I do not have any kids or anything (wait what do kids have anything to do with it nothing maybe i should use the strike through???) and maybe I do not know what I believe or what I want to do... but I'm just here for now.

SWATE

song
SWATE by Das Racist

this internet thing is pretty swate currently watching a live ben kweller concert SWATE
school and nebraska are the opposite of swate

Brass by Ryan Adams (a poem that i think is swate)

. . . when
when the brass blows
down that crooked lane
is that when
is that when you will
you know
say my name
once more
and
maybe even cry
no
no i doubt that
very
very
much
. . . when

robot boxes

song
Limit to Your Love by James Blake

Straightened my hair it isn't long or anything

poem i wroted

robot boxes

stuck in a small box
built by robots
no clue how i got here
maybe its not a box
maybe it is just a small space
or a metaphor for a box
but if just a metaphor
where do the robots come in?

nighttime

Songs

Zombies by the Sea by Hoquiam- Damien Jurado and his brother

THE PEOPLE"S KEY ALBUM by Bright Eyes- "I'm still angry with no reason to be"

Talamak by Toro Y Moi - chill wave glo fi chill as shit whatever you want to classify it as

Rolling in the Deep by Adele- not sure why I like this so much lots of good remixes out there of it

up late and homesick the usual i guess

My friend Austin is good at constructing poems and stuff here is one i like entitled "nighttime":

it’s late and i’m depressed. slouching in my chair, i’m skimming old issues of scientific american and trying to be interested in something when there’s a knock at the door. it’s a tall and pale but beautiful woman surrounded by an all-girls choir. i ask her what’s going on and she says that music is the balm for a broken heart then lifts her arms and begins to sing a sweet long loud but gentle note and as she does golden glitter spills down from her hair and begins to fill my room. all the girls join in harmony and one by one their chests explode and spray different shades of gold until it covers my legs my neck my head and i’m floating.

i can talk... sometimes

song of the day
i can talk by two door cinema club

contrivance (you know a poem)

trying to speak but the words melted in your mouth not in your hands
not that you would want them to melt in your hands either
you are contradicting yourself but in your head it is not a contradiction
or maybe you dont even really hear what you are saying
then you realize that all of it is just contrived and forced
and this is the kind of conversation that drives you crazy but you keep on
one day you will say something that is meaningful emotional worth while
until then just keep bull shitting through every day encounters