tra la la

these are some of my favorite lines from songs. most are simple but just so right-

"color the coast with your smile it's the most genuine thing I've ever seen."

"It's so hard to go into the city cause you want say, hey I love you to everybody."

"am i really all things that are outside of me?"

"... still I'm perfect, it must be you cause now it's over."

"don't burn the day."

"I sang instead when other girls only cried."

"when my loneliness is through I'm gonna find another you."

"my words mimicked his but beneath them like the dust bowl were depression years."

"we were one cell in the sea in the beginning and what we're made of was all the same once."

"I want a sunday kind of love."

"I need you like the dragonfly's wings need the wind."

and sooo many more ....

real estate

by far the most enjoyable band/album I've been listening to lately.

http://pitchfork.com/reviews/albums/13703-real-estate/

untitled

A foil of that imagination,

the other one.

Less sought after.

Dirty truck stops.

Heavenly corners and crevices of town

Where homeless people lay their bodies.

Dust between the books

Housed on the 11th floor of the library.

One last stamped in 1978,

Almost chaste.

The chipping gray mortar keeping

Stones together

Like the prescriptions that taped up the tears in my mind.

fermentation of the mind

I would sit under the orangey lamp light

my feet tucked under me, 

perched on the stool most afternoons.

Pick at the edge of the bar, 

splinters coming from a fresh

table wound.

Someone must have thrashed at the

aged wood with their knife-

probably the same guy that held you up

tonight and took your wallet.

My eyes lost and distant, bore holes 

into each person that walked in.

People would flutter in and out of 

their conversations but

the only thing I could ever mutter

was "why are you here."

And I would ask myself the same question 

under my breath

on the whole walk home.

 

You might be waiting for me

at home by the hearth

glasses perched on your nose

looking at me with those eyes

that seemed to care,

but not enough to ask where I'd been. 

Or maybe you already knew.

short thoughts

build an alter to yourself

adorn it with pieces of your hair

a baby tooth

an old tube of chapstick 

the letters you wrote to those who would still be around

empty matchbooks

cigarette butts that had once kissed your lips

some stained clothes.

douse it in oil 

and send it towards the gods

in one all consuming flame.

there, now you are completed.

short thoughts

caught in thoughts twisting tightly around my mind. strands of ideas meant to pass in a cursory glance yet they stay. continue to accumulate until no semblance of cohesion exists. just a messy mass of purposeless anxieties and neurosis. 

to want is to work

I found this excerpt in the unabridged journals of Sylvia Plath and it struck a chord with me. Especially at this point in my life as I consider my future and pursuing jobs, clearing the path that my life will take.


"I am lucky: I am at Smith because I wanted it and worked for it. I am going to be a guest editor on Mlle in June beacause I wanted it and worked for it. I am being published in Harper's because I wanted it and worked for it. Luckily I could translate wish to reality by the work."
-Sylvia Plath