LOL

I saw a butterfly at the beach
it was small and bright green
We brought snacks, an orange, a peach
A slice of lemon and tangerine.

The water moved and above were painted clouds
we held hands and laid on our towel
I had thoughts I dare not say aloud
while we looked at hermits in the shallows.

You chuckled at my squeals towards the jellies
“they have no motives, not even a brain!”
The water got so cold when it got up to our bellies
but the sky went dark, it started to rain.

And in the car we sped up and blared the tunes
to drown out the sound of thunder
When we arrived home we went to my room
I couldn’t stop smiling and it’s no wonder.

You sat next to me on my bed
wished me goodnight, kissed my cheek
I held your hand and you rested your head
The most beautiful end to my week.

Hung. Over.

So when I get drunk I like to walk down to Indie Pop Night, listening to my mp3 player with a friend. We sing “all I wanna do, bock bock bock bock, and I, click, ching, and take your money”, while the earbuds pop out of our ears as we drunkenly sway away from each other. I like to wait outside in a line and ask, very loudly, in front of a bouncer “SO YOU’RE REALLY ONLY 16?”, to a boy I had just met that night.

“Now’s not the time to ask that question,” but I make up for it with a kiss on his cheek. And then I proceed to hit on a 16 year old boy all night. He started it, before I had said a single word to him, he stuck his finger up my nose and ran away.

We finally get in, express our fondness for being free as birds… we even have a handshake. I take a shot of rum, make a face, and dance until I am soaked in sweat. I try to dance with a girl who I am convinced is a lesbian. She is tall and androgynous with a short haircut. I really need to stop thinking in stereotypes. She avoids me like the weirdo I am. I give up my conquest, and watch from afar as she spends the night talking to the keyboardist of a popular local band.

Everything is a haze, due to the fact that I can drink the most of a pint of vanilla vodka in the span of an hour on an empty stomach. But I sit with strangers in one of the few booths that this tiny bar offers. I am wearing short shorts, of course my legs are peeling from the sunburn I had suffered the week before, and my legs are up on the table. I am sure I am not able to do this, but no one says a word. Only a blonde man in his mid-twenties asks me to put those “weapons” away. I talk to him. He’s cool, he reads Kerouac. He’s actually setting out next week for a trip through The States. Just like Jack. But he says he wants to be Dean.

The night is over, I don’t remember how we knew. I meet up with a friend for some pizza. I see Jesse as well. He is drunk out of his mind – I only ever see Jesse drunk out of his mind. The pizza is five dollars even. I rationalize eating it because I only had one thing to eat all day. Plus I’m getting skinny. When I go home, and undress, my underwear hangs off of me. I feel like a child, I sleep like a baby.

And I don’t go to work the next day.

Blahhhhhhhhhh..

So who do I speak to, to get this to be played at my funeral?

If I ever leave this world alive
I’ll thank for all the things you did in my life
If I ever leave this world alive
I’ll come back down and sit beside your
feet tonight
Wherever I am you’ll always be
More than just a memory
If I ever leave this world alive

If I ever leave this world alive
I’ll take on all the sadness
That I left behind
If I ever leave this world alive
The madness that you feel will soon subside
So in a word don’t shed a tear
I’ll be here when it all gets weird
If I ever leave this world alive

So when in doubt just call my name
Just before you go insane
If I ever leave this world
Hey I may never leave this world
But if I ever leave this world alive

She says I’m okay; I’m alright,
Though you have gone from my life
You said that it would,
Now everything should be all right
Yeah it should be alright.

I gave her my heart, but she wanted my soul.

Is it just me, or are musicians extremely emotionally intelligent?
Maybe Dylan is just a God.

Why is this perfect?

On the day we were supposed to leave
you changed your mind at the station.

You had a nice apartment, there was a good bar downstairs.
Your old friend worked there.

I’ll go anyway, I’ll go anyway
They won’t refund the ticket.
It’s a good story, but I don’t wanna live it alone.
Crash to take a chance.

I wanna live it out
I know I’m already dead.
No concrete adversity, only traps of our own actions,
how we wanted it to be.

Now I’m never gonna see you again,
you checked out.

Vertebrae, by vertebrae, roll your way out of a coma

Look up, the nurse is smiling.
What luck, the nurse is me!
Your old body is dead..

Your body is dead,
your word instead, in my sleep, I repeat it.
It’s a good story, but I don’t wanna live it alone.
Crash to take a chance.

We were gonna live it out, look at you
you’re already dead.

How will you remember me?
Digging ditches out of boredom.
Said you could never leave.

Now you’re never gonna be here again,
you turned off.

Hope I live it out.

Mad Girl’s Love Song

"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"

“I JUST BLENDED A WHOLE POTATO, -WITH- THE SKIN!”

After a night of drinking in various bars around my little city, I went home with my friend, and slept over at her place. We fell asleep with the television on, which made it possible for me to experience some wacky dreams.

The one I vividly remember having that night would be about a blender. You know, that blender that was developed by that really crazy/strong 90 year old man’s wife? “YOU CAN HAVE ALL OF YOUR VEGETABLE SERVINGS IN ONE DISGUSTING SMOOTHIE!”, you know, that kind of shit. Well, in my dream, I owned said blender, and you bet your ASS I used it.

That blender was practically attached to me like another appendage. I took it everywhere I went. I even took it to the car wash. And to the beach. I remember walking with it down my city’s streets, wearing short shorts and having a wicked sunburn on my thighs. And then for some reason I got a nosebleed.

I didn’t wake up with a nosebleed, however, so it was cool.

“I’ll have a coffee, black.”

It’s no secret, I love coffee. I’ll probably have about 4-5 cups a day. And you bet your sweet, sweet ass I’ll have caffeine after 5pm! Perhaps this uncontrollable love for the stuff is a direct result of being exposed to it for the better part of my summer days. Yeah, that’s right. I work in a coffee shop. I am your own personal coffee slave. Tip me well, and I’ll… probably make fun of you as you leave the store. Chances are, you’re probably too picky with your coffee. Just keep in mind, I don’t care if you want half the amount of cream in your coffee, it’s my job. Apologizing for it doesn’t make me like you better, it makes me annoyed. I try my best to accomodate your exotic coffee preferences without even knowing you personally… so why are you talking to me? Don’t talk to me. Don’t be mean either, but don’t be passive and apologize. AND DON’T TALK TO ME! Did I say that already? Just thank me for the excellent job I just did, and enjoy. Anyway, I’m babbling.

What’s that? You want half the cream? Oh, you’re sorry? Jackass.

The point is, I have quite a few work-related dreams. Most of them involving me quitting, and leaving in a huff. The last one I had involved me closing the store, and NEVER EVER LEAVING. Just stuck in this horrible, continuous night shift. The customers were cranky, I was cranky, my co-workers refused to help, and I was doomed to stay in the store forever, until I got all this shit done. God damn.

I wouldn’t hate my job if I didn’t hate my job.

No We Can’t

“See the ruins of the old world below?
That’s what our ancestors left us
Our robot masters will know
How to clean this mess up
And build a better world
For man and machine alike
For the boys and the girls
Who are slaves building spaceships at night
In the fluorescent light.
That’s 2009.

No we can’t, No we won’t, No we can’t, No we won’t

On cold frosty Martian mornings
The chill on my breath is red
Redder than my mother’s blood
When she turned to me and said
“This is not how we planned it
But we’ve gotten ahead of ourselves
Computers rule the planet
And the moon and mars as well
We lost the fight”
That’s 2009.

I have a microchip
Implanted in my heart
So if I try to escape
The robots will blow me apart
And my limbs will go flying
And land before the ones that I love
Who would wail and would weep
But the robots would keep them at bay
While I shut my eyes
For the very last time.
Citizens of tomorrow be forewarned.”

Citizens of Tomorrow, by one o’ my favourites, Tokyo Police Club. It’s short , it’s lovely. The plot about robots could alone be the one reason why I’ve been obsessing over this song for two years. It appears on almost all of my mix CDs and I’d never skip over it while skimming through my playlists. I have a huge boner for this song, and you should too.

gb2 kitchen

I have this great abhorrence for cleaning up other people’s shit. Especially when I wasn’t even present during the making of the mess. So when my parents look to me, with the “are you going clean this” look in their eyes, I get the most overwhelming urge to throat punch someone. After all, I haven’t even been around for 4 out of 6 dinners this week… in fact, I have actually SKIPPED three dinners (working short shifts during the evenings, not much I can really do)!

But in this dream, when my mother orders me to keep the kitchen spotless for every day of the week, I don’t throat punch anyone. In fact, I just sit there, quietly brewing a storm beneath my collar. Thoughts run through my mind (my mind in my mind’s dream? Is that like, sub-subconscious?). I swear, I have never been so fucking stressed out in a dream -ever-. And I’ve been involved in space battles and murder mysteries. And all this was about, was simple household chores.