rats! every time..
ok, so its like, i read these lyrics and they are like AMAZING and i just... am wowed. i mean, how can they write stuff like that? its just so purely original and they don't need any fancy words when funky's good enough. and the placement seems real, its all so there, when we feel we aren't, it brings us back. back into feeling.
the district sleeps alone tonight
the postal service
Smeared black ink... your palms are sweaty
And I'm barely listening to last demands
I'm staring at the asphalt wondering what's buried underneath
Where I am
Where I am
I'll wear my badge... a vinyl sticker with big block letters adherent to my chest
That tells your new friends I am a visitor here...
I am not permanent
And the only thing keeping me dry is
Where I am
Where I am
Where I am
You seem so out of context in this gaudy apartment complex
A stranger with your door key explaining that I am just visiting
And I am finally seeing
Why I was the one worth leaving
Why I was the one worth leaving
D.C. sleeps alone tonight
Where I am
Where I am
Where I am
You seem so so out of context in this gaudy apartment complex
A stranger with your door key explaining that I am just visiting
And I am finally seing
Why I was the one worth leaving
Why I was the one worth leaving
Where I am
Where I am
Where I am
The district sleeps alone tonight after the bars turn out their lights
And send the autos swerving into the loneliest evening
And I am finally seeing
Why I was the one worth leaving
Why I was the one worth leaving
Why I was the one worth leaving
Why I was the one worth leaving
and when i say my art is going byebye, that is what i mean, i can't do that, maybe i never could. but i feel vacant, vacant of anything real.
just filled with like beans. bean brain. fooey. gooey. bluey. mooey.
gini said something so perfect yesterday. it made so much sense. it was about
"squelched spirits."
and thats what it is. this feeling.
but i mean, maybe i just don't have it. (i know you have felt this, jordan.) but maybe i just haven't discovered it yet. art. passion. no, wait. i have felt both. i have seen/smelt/tasted/felt/heard art, in his eyes, that cupcake in a cone, the cracks in the sidewalk, the energy pulsing through your fingers. (it just doesn't fly.. off aerodynamics) and i am brimming with passions. sorta chaotic. just in waves of chaoticism. (theres a lemon crammed in my soda. did i put it there? does it just come that way? cruddy lemons. well, no. maybe they add that pucker, a bit of mischief in this bubbly world. if any of those words describe any of those words i just put them to describe. pucker:mischief::bubbly:world. sure!)
ANYways. back to those lyrics that whack me back. look.
i want so badly to believe that there is truth, that love is real
and i want life in every word to the extent that its absurd
i know your wise beyond your years but do you ever get the feeling
your perfect verse is just a lie you tell yourself to to help you get by?
-"Clark Gable"
The Postal Service
i mean, ya feelin me? c'mon now.
and WHY can't i? i'm just trying too hard. i am. its like i can't think freely there, like i can on this blog. freedom in poetry.. (how metamorphic.) its zooming by, and i can't catch it.
i just watched DEAD POET'S SOCIETY and its blastingly potent, and it washes you in sepia tones and you can feel it drenching you. i can feel it. but i can't get in it. it still doesn't feel real to me now. its that aged thing. sepia tones, i'm telling you. its glorious to watch though. painfully splendid.
i can't get there. i want to be there. maybe its not somewhere i need to go, maybe its already upon me. i've walked into it, but its so enlightenlingly glow-y, i can't see it yet, still a tad blind.
always a tad blind. but not as bad as smidgey puppies..
1 comment:
man do i know what you mean
Post a Comment