A List That Knocked

God, Save the Queen –
– walking out the front door.

And then you find a windmill.

You do what you have to do to survive.

It's when the Stockholm looked both ways;
and then crashed into the Anna Doria.

Those Saints waiting down, they have seen it with their eyes. 

That's One Way To Go

Smoking a cigarette now isn't the worst.

Pull me away in the shiny black hearse.
Drive me out –
– to the country.
Put me in the dirt.
It doesn't feel that bad until it hurts. 

On and Off Again

I used to wait up for you to call. Now, I try to ignore the fact it's not ringing. I took the promise personal. I'm not sure if it's the word "promise" or "personal" that makes me listen harder. 

Courage to Flee

So she's out of here. Yep, she's gone. My best friend. So much hurt and frustration gave her bravery to run. To start over. 

Sad Stuck Teenagers

Do you remember when you used to sit around with people your age with the few that were older than you? Those were the ones that always grabbed the beer. The ones that always smokes the most cigarettes. Yeah, now you remember.

Do you remember how you used to listen to music because you could feel it? Because there was another part of it that fucking rocked your bones, a part your brain didn't understand, and a part that your heart wished were words. Oh all of those sad fucking songs you used to clench your fists at and fight for?

Why was feeling like a poor, drug addict, loser so comforting? Most of us were poor, 5% of us were addicted to drugs, and 90% of us were losers. We were all comfortable in a dark lie that we didn't even notice. We were all just sad, stuck teenagers.


And only a few of us snapped out of it. 

Isn't That All?

I'm not very good at this game.

British grunge rock; flag waving son of a bitch.

You'll lose your facial hair; BADDA BING.

Baby Kittens and Cats Are Both Felines

I know how she felt because I read her words.

I know what she means because I felt what she felt.

How funny this all is!

She and I are more a like than I ever thought.

I swore to myself I would never do things like her.

I swore that I would right the wrong.

1983 and 1990 have quite a bit in common.

Another point for me.

One less for you.

Oh my, this is very humorous.

Shape Shifter

Patterns of heartbreak break

and they leak across these paper ties and lies.

They're held together with twisty ties and spit from flies.

Won't you miss your way?

This leather cell and paper trail isn't the way keep scratching at the walls.

Don't make me question forever again.

After you hear your name being called and the hair is dancing around your bedrooms walls, you can change the shape.

So play with it for a while.

Why don't you change the shape?

I'm picturing a circle what do you see?

You're picturing a square where the circle used to be.

Don't make me question forever, ever again.

The Fire Will Die, Like You & I

I fear I won't get better

I fear the glow of the fire won't hold

The crackle is what counts;

or so I am told.

The heat will dissapear

And I, well, I will be cold.

"Please don't wait for it."

Was all that I was told.

A few moments later,

my brain runs for a glow.

The glow of the burning ember.

And now, after seaching,

I am just old.

The run was not worth it.

The dehydration didn't help.

The sweat is burning my eyes.

Now I am hot as hell.

Tomorrow I will be older.

As days pass I will cool.

I will become older.

I will run out of fuel.

The Ocean, Sun, and WWI

I told the ocean waves to high five the sky and smile at the sun. A twinkle was born and the earth was created. A breath of completeness was then taken chased with salt water. Please be quiet and wash out your mouth. That salt taste will get to you but give it a second! Drink up and that salt will clean your wounds. Those battle wounds sting just as much as when they were first hatched and hacked. They might heal. And they might scar. At least they'll make for a witty story. So cheer up and smile. You're got company that wants to listen.

First, Not Last, Not Only

It smelt like honey,
Tasted like fresh air,
and looked like the brightest color you could see.

It hurt like all the pain I've ever felt.
It made me smile bigger than making my dad proud.
My chapped, dry lips cracks over my dehydrated mouth.
The tempo fueled my adrenaline and synced with my heart.

When I drove home after each show,
I cried.
I cried to support a feeling I quite didn't understand.
I had felt it once before, but not like this.
No, not quite like this at all.

I met G-d.
He was hiding in my music all along.

I knew this group of five would split.
I could preempt things were going to end.
Then, the tall one said,
"This will be our last song. Thanks for everything. It really, really means a lot to us."
Like that,
it was over.

Love 180 Minutes Away

This white.

This black.

Where do I find you?

How do I reach for you?

180 minutes.

And my heart beats a million times faster;

just for you.

Your touch isn't around.

I reach and digtially feel.

Oh phone, oh computer--

--I've had enough.

When will your titanium start to feel like skin?

When will your plastic begin to feel like love?

When will the screen start to revile the truth?

Love 180 away

It starts and ends my day. . .

Girl of Heads and Hair Colours

How could I forget her? She's me.

Living Live Digital Doppler

From the begining and back towards the end

When will this rain, fog and winter end?

The white clouds of snow melt from the sun and the ice melt.

My vision melts.

My vision drips the water and the sun dries my eyes after.

When the sunshines too close,

the heat gets too hot.

When the sun rests on your back,

it's heavy mass burns.

What kind of weather should I be waiting for?

What kind of tempatures should I expect?

When the wind knocks down my tower,

I shall collect my wooden cubes and start over.

Before the sun burns my skin,

I will ask for shade.

And when the ice melts,

I will build an arc.

Sighs, Signs, & Reading Minds.

The more you know about a culture, the less we judge and listen to stereotypes. Icons then have more meaning and create confusion with the connotation of the icon. Visual communication is key to synthesizing ideas because no one can see into your mind but you can display your "mind's eye".

Individuals are made up of collective symbols to create who they are. There are symbols can also create who they want the world to view them as.

Purposefully Placed Proportions

I have the most sudden urge to tell everyone how I feel.

Tapping, ticking, tock.

Put me in your pocket; I'd like that a lot.

The front pocket; I'm not the one to ride in the back.

I'm light as a feather, not the kind of weight you would have to carry.

What do you think about that?

Propositions.

Purposefully placed proportions.

Brain Juice

I have just begun to stare into the inner outwards of my eyelids.

I can't make up the difference between left and right,

or even happiness from lonliness for that matter.

The clicking in my brain makes up for the lack of intertwining our bodies do.

You're big, and you make my body feel so small.

You've got small nothing, and you make my brain feel so big.

Why can't this be?

I could sit in this world for days and never peak out,

never even wonder what is outside.

I am warm and cannot be touched.

I can work with this, this can be worked.

I wish I was high right now, I would feel like I was floating.

Floaiting in my brain fluid. Ha.

Numbers

I have lost the one that goes with my too.

Job Hearts

Being in a relationship is like practice for a job interview. You show someone your best side, you get the job, and someday, well, you quit.

Flour-Covered Feathers

I did't mean to stiff you but out of all actuality, you stiffed me. It's to the umpteenth degree. You know what I mean. (Interlude). And here we go; you may be the one that I see. Even more than I see. Maybe even desire. Knifed, fire, psalters, gone. Gone. Gone.

Don't flinch out by your change. Naked is the truth we all need to be. Don't get broken down by the sting. Don't even flinch keep it stinging. The cops and the news don't know the heaven from hell. We can just trust in the wind we feel on our feathers and the rain on our skin. The resin in the gun we have loaded isn't what clean feeling or desire. The siren is the alarm and the tempt or truth. Goodnight.

Friendship

Julie: You love me.

Ian: And you love me.

Julie: Yes.

Math and Minds

I lost the one that goes with my two.

The only thing that keeps me believing in love is music. Humanity is too corrupt and poised for let down. Music, or sound in general never tells a lie. It is the human, or their mind, that tangles sound to trick the brain. It makes you question yourself at that point. If the sound is without a doubt pure and real, it's God, metaphorically and literally. It depends what your outlook is on life.

Brotherhood of Man

I have been listening to The Innocence Mission lately. I wish I had a lovely singing voice like this woman. Karen and Don Peris, will you adopt me?

If

If I was always on your mind, well you didn't show it.

I Recommend the Pecan Pie

Recorded on the 11th of August, 2009:

Hello, I'm talking through my phone right now which is connected through my headphones. It kind of cool. But anyway, I was just rambling to myself inside my head and what I've come to the conclusion of is that the reason I freak out sometimes is because I never know if I'm right or wrong.

What is really right? What is really wrong? There so many different types of people with different morals, varying ways they hold and watch themselves. Is there even anyone that has correct morals? And if so, who are they? How do we follow them? How do we change the head and heart that is inside our body to the way of that person that is 100% right and knows when something is 100% wrong? I don't know. I think that's kind of what I'm striving for, I'm trying to figure that out. Hmm.

Maybe everyone is trying to figure that out and that's why we're all alive. If everyone knew the right way and everyone knew how to be right there would be no wars or fucking inflammation, or economy sucking, or friends fighting, or dangerous dangerous drugs being used, no violence, no crime. It would be the typical white picket fence with you know, 2.5 kids and a dog and a cat and a married couple that don't get divorced. Hm. Then it might be kind of a boring world, huh?

I'm such a people pleasure that I don't understand that sometimes you can't always be right and you can't always be wrong and you have just fucking cross your fingers and hope that you're right [when you truly want to be]. I guess that's kind of the faith about living --is that you just don't know.

Down the Mountain

It's the kind of statue feeling some may get.

Head sunk into your pillow and your eyes staring up at God--

--up at the heavens.

And you're pleading WHY?

And you don't understand anything.

When your eyes produce the tears they just fall to the outside corners of your eyes,

Down your temples,

and behind your ears.

And you're trying so damn hard.

So hard.

And you're insane!

You're crazy!

Not one person is 100% happy.

What does it feel like?

I wish I knew.

Oh Lord, I do.

Cloud Head

Your hand was so hard to let go of.

But it's done and over with.

Just because I can't feel your hand right now doesn't mean I can't remember what it's like.

It doesn't mean that this heart of my doesn't, either.

Your head is in the clouds, and I thought mine would fit there too.

But just at that moment I lost track of myself.

And you wouldn't have for it.

You let me go.

You cut the line.

My heart monitor seemed to go up and down for awhile, and don't get me wrong, it still does.

I don't want to be just another.

I have always pictured myself as the one.

I am not.

And these feelings of the clouds need to turn back into the ground,

because that's the only thing that is really solid to put my feet on.

Chin up, you can do it.

I'll show you what you're missing.

Woman With One Hand

I'll be o.k.

A one handed musician would be a sad story.

One that is not quite easy to tell.

No use crying over spilt milk.

All of our cards have been dealt.

So put your chin up and give your best forward.

So, don't worry about it.

I'll be o.k.

I'm headed to the north.

I've heard it's cold and the frostbite stings the insides.

Without my right hand, who will keep the left warm?

I'm a smart girl, I'll figure it out.

Tears and blood seems to be what this life is all about.

But like I said--

--I'll be just fine.

Two Thousand & Nine

The time is about four in the morning. I'm sitting in my chair watching Project Runway Season IV. It's about time for me to write a new blog entry and this is the position I'm in: Legs upright on the coffee table, leaning back on my recliner, relying on my WiFi (that I'm stealing) to pull through and not drop out of connection.

This summer has been quite the experience. People come in and out of this house telling me the vibe I have brought into the house is great. It makes me wonder what type of work I will produce in this house. I'm not really sure how the words should be typed out but I'm relying on my memory (of what I can even remember) of the events of this summer. Two thousand and nine. That's it. From the beginning of this summer until now I've watched more movies than one should, drank, smoked, and snorted more than one should. I have eaten more than one should.

I've had a drug dealer, a drunk, and a robber casted away in my house for periods on ends and haven't had a problem with it. I think my morals have been shifted by the ora of this house. I'll finish this later. My brain is shot right now.

A Pint Or Two

Thinking real hard in my head and it's perfect.
Allyson just said,"I'm living in norway above the speedway. Ships sail, Julie."

I can see it all perfect.
I think I said that.

You didn't call today/tonight.
It's cool.
I'm really not pissed and if I was, "I would tell you that."

I'm going to be a musician and spill my heart out to everyone and like it because I think life is all about showing who you really are.

You feel confident, but not mean in anyway.

You're on top of the world.

But can still lift it up to.

Allyson is talking in her head.

I'm going to go draw and make a rode map to where my heart wants it to go. . .

What I've Been Trying To Say

Honestly, what I have been trying to say shouldn't be this hard. I think about it [almost] everyday. Mostly at night, when I'm listening to music that makes me feel like I'm at home. I'm not a person who get attached to things easy. But I do set myself up for disappointment. How does that work out? Who knows . . .

I have deeper eyes than that, I must say. It's not a physical attraction. It has never really been. Ever since the beginning, there has been that magnet there. You know it's true, I mean, we've talked about it before. Not being able to remember how we started. Not knowing how we'll end.

But along the lines of knowing how it will end: I think we are both on that search. My eyes look over my left shoulder and yours are over your right. That gives us the illusion that we're both looking in different direction but if I'm standing on your left, and you on my right, and if we turn our heads enough, wouldn't that mean that we're looking right at one another, if we try hard enough?

But, you know what I believe to have wrong with me: That I care, I care too much. Sometimes silly thoughts crawl into my head. They usually leave pretty quick due to the fact that self doubt is a son of a bitch neighbor. Not welcome to move in and in this town, those silly thoughts can start a fire bigger than New York's Great Fire of 1835. Your problem? Well, I'm not sure you have one. I mean, we all do but mine can cancel yours out 10:1 it seems, sometimes.

When I do this I always tell myself to "shut the fuck up" and to "stop being a baby!" because that's what I've heard my whole life. Do I feel sorry for myself? Yes, sometimes.

I think I've always wanted to go balls out. Get this load off of my brain, heart, and whatever else. Maybe the distance helps. It's easier to be told "no" when something you already know that is impossible, just happens to be umpteen miles away. (If that makes any sense whatsoever, I'm not really sure).

Honestly, bottom line: I still, or have for a long time, though of you as my soulmate. That one chance that you hear about it the movies; Yeah, you're him. Wishful thinking for a better tomorrow. A tomorrow that can allow certain things? I think so.

You know what I think is bullshit? Movies. That a brain teaser. If romance happens like that, when is my turn? Does one have to draw a number and stand in a line? Or can one only be a small part of the status quo? Draw a ticket, and win the lottery.

I feel like I'm the creepy, fuckass that can't get a hint. I look for hints everywhere. Sometimes I find ones I don't like, and dwell on them too often. I'll grow up. Someday good will outplay the bad. Do you know when though, because I think my watch is broken.

You say sorry, I say sorry but who's really apologizing, and for what are we apologizing for? May she be out there for you and he for me. Unless, that's not what you want. I supposed "to want" and "to need" are two different things though; aren't they?

You look up and I stand like a child on their tippy-toes, trying to comprehend and see what the adult sees, at their view. I wish it wasn't like this. I wish a lot of things.

I try.

(Oh, do I ever).

Marc and Juergen

When it comes to my top favorite fashion designer it is hands down Marc Jacobs.

When it comes down to my favorite fashion photographer it is 100% Juergen Teller.

Just let your eyeballs orgasm over one of the simply beautiful portraits and pictures taken:

Mr. Hawk and Mrs. Swan

I have a dear, dear friend by the name of, Mr. Hawk.  One day, Mr. Hawk and Mrs. Swan had to part their ways.  Mrs. Swan was still of young age and still had not fully matured into her full "potential", quite yet.  She viewed her insides, and outsides, as ugly and could not get her feathered-brain around her thoughts.  

One day, when it was time to migrate to warmer weather, Mrs. Swan and Mr. Hawk said their goodbyes. Since birds don't have money they decided to exchange their thoughts instead of material items to add to the nest (which would one day deteriorate anyway).

Knowledgeable squawks and chirps were exchanged. Inside Mrs. Swan's head she understood that now, was the time to fly north, back to her home, where she truly needed to be: the city. Inside her brain, she still felt that the only place she could honestly be kept warm from any sort of  wind, snow, or rain, was under the wing of Mr. Hawk. 

Mr. Hawk did not think the same way, even though Mrs. Swan prayed in her heart that he would. He believed that the only wing that could keep him warm was the wing of his Father. Mr. Hawk told Mrs. Swan this and she could do nothing but agree, due to the fact she realized the Mr. Hawk was indeed, right. 

Even though she was sad to go, Mr. Hawk remined Mrs. Swan the anytime she felt alone that she could just listen into the wind and hear him singing songs to her heart from all those miles south. To this day, Mrs. Swan is still waiting for a love song to head her way. 

This song reminds me of you. 

The words aren't in chirps or squaks but I'm sure your heart will understand it.

I will love you forever and always.

Moving

I'm headed to the north for bigger opportunities.
Headed up the road for something new.
I'm walking up the path with the least resistance.
It doesn't seem like much of a struggle for you but it's hard.
Oh! When the rain poors down, it's hard, my friend.
To clean yourself off with your only two lonely hands.
No one there to hang out a towel or to buy you a drink.
I'm leaving behind my friends, family, home, and the kitchen sink.

I'm walking upward and whiping the slate clean.
I'm running up the path of my own dreams.
I want to succeed with all my heart, oh yes I do.
But this new cement city will seen even colder, without you.
When the sun shines it will grow warmer.
Sun, where are you and why won't you come out?