bright eyes--waste of paint (now, how is this not me?) "i have a friend, he's mostly made of pain
he wakes up, tries to work, and straight back home again
he once cut one of my nightmares out of paper
i thought it was beautiful, i put it on a record cover
and i tried to tell him he had a sense
of color and composition, so magnificant
and he said, 'thank you please, but your flattery- it's truly not becoming me
your eyes are poor, you're blind you see, no beauty could come out of me
i'm a waste of breath... of space... of time....
so i hang out down by the train's depot
no i don't ride, i just sit and watch the people there
they remind me of wind-up cars in motion
the way they spin and turn and jockey full positions
and i want to scream out that it's all nonsense
that their life's one trap and can't they see it's pointless
but just then my knees give under me
it's clear to see it's not them but me, who's lost myself identity
and i hide behind these books i read while scribbling my poetry
like art could save a wretch like me with some ideal ideology
that no one could hope to achieve
and i'm never real, it's just a sketch of me
and everything i've made is trite and cheap
and a waste of paint... of tape... of time..."
-------
September 18, 2002 @ 7:04 pm
bright eyes--june on the west coast
(((i spent a week drinking the sunlight of winnetka, California where they understand the weight of human hearts you see sorrow gets too heavy and joy it tends to hold you with the fear that it eventually departs. and the truth is i’ve been dreaming of some tired tranquil place where the weather won’t get trapped inside my bones and if all the years of searching find one sympathetic face then its there i will plant these seeds and make my home i spent a day dreaming of dying in mesa, Arizona where all the green of life had turned to ash and i felt i was on fire, with the things i could have told you i guess i just assumed that you eventually would ask and i wouldn’t have to bring up my so badly broken heart and all those months i just wanted to sleep and though spring, it did come slowly, i guess it did its part my heart has thawed and continues to beat i visited my brother on the outskirts of Olympia where the forest and the water become one and we talked about our childhood, like a dream we were convinced of, that perfect peaceful street where we came from and i know he heard me strumming all those sad and simple chords as i sat inside my room so long ago and it hurts that he’s still shaking from those secrets that were told by a car closed up airtight and a heart turned cold and i went to san diego the birthplace of the summer and watched the ocean dance under the moon and there was a girl i knew there, one more potential lover i guess that something’s got to happen soon because i know i can’t keep living in this dead or dying dream and as i watched along the beach and drank with her i thought about my true love, the one i really need with eyes that burn so bright, they make me pure they make me pure they make me pure i long to be with you+i spent a week drinking the sunlight of winnetka, California where they understand the weight of human hearts you see sorrow gets too heavy and joy it tends to hold you with the fear that it eventually departs. and the truth is i’ve been dreaming of some tired tranquil place where the weather won’t get trapped inside my bones and if all the years of searching find one sympathetic face then its there i will plant these seeds and make my home i spent a day dreaming of dying in mesa, Arizona where all the green of life had turned to ash and i felt i was on fire, with the things i could have told you i guess i just assumed that you eventually would ask and i wouldn’t have to bring up my so badly broken heart and all those months i just wanted to sleep and though spring, it did come slowly, i guess it did its part my heart has thawed and continues to beat i visited my brother on the outskirts of Olympia where the forest and the water become one and we talked about our childhood, like a dream we were convinced of, that perfect peaceful street where we came from and i know he heard me strumming all those sad and simple chords as i sat inside my room so long ago and it hurts that he’s still shaking from those secrets that were told by a car closed up airtight and a heart turned cold and i went to san diego the birthplace of the summer and watched the ocean dance under the moon and there was a girl i knew there, one more potential lover i guess that something’s got to happen soon because i know i can’t keep living in this dead or dying dream and as i watched along the beach and drank with her i thought about my true love, the one i really need with eyes that burn so bright, they make me pure they make me pure they make me pure i long to be with you)))
-------
September 18, 2002 @ 1:23 pm
i'm going to pretend that i can sleep without dreaming of you
(it will all take care of itself in time. i'll take care of it. in time.)
i know you have been here again. a lot. and i think its interesting that you go "away" right as i take my away message off. and..
and i'm going back to bed. i'm going to block out all the light and pretend that i can sleep without dreaming of you.
(last nights dream was really weird. if i can remember it, then i'll try to type it all up.)
-------
September 18, 2002 @ 12:09 am
bright eyes--the center of the world.
(((At the center of the world there is a statue of a girl. She is standing near a well with a bucket bare and dry. I went and looked her in the eyes and she turned me into sand. This clumsy form that I despise scattered easy in her hand. And it came to rest upon a beach, with a million others there. We sat and waited for the sea to stretch out so that we could disappear into the ndlessness of blue, into the horror of the truth. We are far less than we knew. Yes, we are far less than we knew but we knew what we could taste. Girls found honey to drench our hands. Men cut marble to mark our graves. Saying that we will need something to remind us of all the sweetness that has passed through us (fresh sangria and lemon tea). The priests dressed children for a choir (white-robed small voices praise Him) but found no joy in what was sung. The funeral had begun in the middle of the day when you drive home to your place from that job that makes you sleep back to the thoughts that keep you awake long after night has come to claim any light that still remains in the corner of the frame that you put around her face. Two pills just weren’t enough. The alarm clock is going off but you are not waking up. This isn’t happening. It is.)))
i'm gonna go watch monsters inc, because i need to find something to make me smile.
i haven't smiled in too long.
-------
old
guestbook
host