THE CAREFREE HOURS OF MY LIFE

couch parties, puppy hugs, less coffee, more water, harmless ghosts, the same familiar faces, perpetual life soundtracks, solitude at my disposal, mystery shows, hospital shows, regular dates with 6am, the oven (only at night), countless films, worn out novels, museums, fairs, baristas, bonding with blood, renouncing the city for a dozen better others, clever thrifty meals, endless days, running highs, parking lots after midnight, and the keepers of my soul.

I long to revisit the carefree summer version of myself.

Ramble, babble, gabble

I’m not entirely sure what this is. Simply put, it’s like there’s a train wreck inside of my head. I’ll let the motion of my fingers lead the direction though. My brain never knows where to begin or how to end. It mostly just splatters moods and flavors, emotions and words into empty spaces where everything wills itself into invisible clutter. Inevitably it all materializes into tangible junk in my room. Cerebral briggsy’s in my life. The problem is that I don’t sleep when I should and sleep when I shouldn’t. How do I maintain a simple clean canvas when I can’t even seem to maintain a simple clean mind? Thank you so much for melodic keys of all sorts though. It’s like tangible sound waves manifest into shapes wherever I breath. I go crazy sometimes, when I can’t find my earphones. Crazy in the sense that I loose all sensible reasoning and drop important deadlines and coffee dates in search for them. There really isn’t a day you’ll speak to me, I know it, when I don’t have coffee on my mind. Seriously, I’m that person. I’m also the person that loves silence when it’s flawless and right. Can I make out with it? Wrap myself around its serenity like no blanket ever fabricated? But fuck it when I don’t want it. It sneaks into my room uninvited and violent. You know, days spent lying on feathers and covered in cotton don’t make me shine quite as brightly as that perfect someone. Sometimes I glance up at the moon and feel absolutely nothing. And I forget to text people you know? I’ve got your number. But it makes no difference because the space bar on my phone refuses to stop being lazy and work. Why are people so dysfunctional? I cannot fathom. Truth be told I have inescapable tendencies. Tendencies like the old die-hard habit of placing my right or left hand in a loose fist under my chin when appreciating art or interpretive dancing. I don’t notice myself doing this, until I do. I only want to analyze strangers and pretend like I know them. I want to write about their life and cry or something. But I can never find the perfect pen, never. I won’t scribble things onto clean white handouts in fear of ruining them. But sometimes I do. Specifically when I doodle on napkins like it’s nobody’s business and then dispose of them when the smell of the ink grows foul next to my pillow. When I think about intimacy and words strung together in form of an honest apology, I visualize my insides trapped inside a glass case and out in display like abstract artwork ready to be deciphered and scrutinized. The thought of an honest apology may be admirably altruistic or genuinely pathetic. I don’t know, we live in a pretty indecisive era. Everyone’s a contradiction. Sometimes I doodle, and my eyes freakishly refuse to focus entirely for any immeasurable period of time. They abruptly shift elsewhere for split seconds. Like a twitch. And sometimes I feel like I had a better understanding of myself when I was 15, except that can’t be right. I have a childhood blanket the color blue with cloud designs. I bought it off a magazine when I was too young to know why I was ordering an overpriced blanket off a magazine for. Whatever. Sometimes I think stupid thoughts, like “my solitude has always belonged to you” or something trite like that. What is that? Also, I move to the rhythm of music and look good while doing it. Therefore, I’m talented. Can I put that on my resume?
What a pity you don’t understand. You’re hired, come on over and fix me. Make me normal and interesting.

The walls decided to put their clothes back on and shine for the air tonight.

There’s a place where I am going, the colors static blue and simple white. There’s high young shrills and a wall leading to a girl dressed in a juxtaposing mood. This room’s old quiet and changed, it will swallow your grief silent and whole.