May 28, 2013

  • Bon Iver, "Skinny Love".... Kimya Dawson, "The Beer" + Louisa Luna's novel, Crooked.

     

    Move through the motions of life sober and little things become magnified. All of the things you have spent years and dollars and blood to keep out, come washing over you in crashing waves. You used to walk from 14th street down the West Side Highway, past Canal Street, out a half a mile to look at New Jersey in the hazy distance... now a 15 minute walk up one hill becomes daunting. Days become monotonus, even the arguments with the same people just repeat again and again. These are the moments where you are trapped inside your own head; its a movie montage of memories where you had the chance to escape, the chance to start again... instead you just dropped that torch and let the fire spread across bridge after bridge. There is no one left to confide in, there is no one left that you have interest in. You put on a mask, a face, day to day. "You can be a teenager for your whole fucking life, just find some pretty sucker and make that bitch your wife...I guess by now you all know my friend Danny broke his neck, he was driving home from Sirens when he got into a wreck; first I cried for him, then I cried for me.. haunted by the ghost of the girl I used to be,"

    girl? woman? washed out. up. I don't know that I ever understood it until this moment--- why people just settled for crappy jobs in little towns, having children and staying still. Life is exhausting and as you get older those exciting, blood pumping moments just dissolve into creature comforts. I don't even have a favorite thing, favorite show...

     

    "something real.. make it timeless, an act of god and nothing less will be accepted.. so if you're calling me out, count me out," - Taking Back Sunday, "Divine Intervention.

     

    Clinically dead.