Friday, January 23, 2009

collection 3

You wake up but not really. In a bedroom you grew up in. It's the only place on this entire planet that is yours. The only place on the planet that understands you. It understands the way your nerves flare every time you think about talking to anyone, scared into shyness at the thought of opening your mouth but the way you are the best hypocrite around when your in front of a microphone. It knows what turns that switch on and off and on again. It understands the way when you don't have a smile on your face everyone only spits: "What's wrong’s and "you look tired’s. So the way you keep it on your face just wide enough to avoid questions. It understands now neurotic you have become, the way you treat your flaws like old friends. The way you look in the mirror and think of yourself as "Mr. Misery"." -peter wentz

“Here's to the kids. The kids who would rather spend their night with a bottle of coke & Patrick or Sonny playing on their headphones than go to some vomit-stained high school party. Here's to the kids whose 11:11 wish was wasted on one person who will never be there for them. Here's to the kids whose idea of a good night is sitting on the hood of a car, watching the stars. Here's to the kids who never were too good at life, but still were wicked cool. Here's to the kids who listened to Fall Out boy and Hawthorne Heights before they were on MTV...and blame MTV for ruining their life. Here's to the kids who care more about the music than the haircuts. Here's to the kids who have crushes on a stupid lush. Here's to the kids who hum "A Little Less 16 Candles, A Little More Touch Me" when they're stuck home, dateless, on a Saturday night. Here's to the kids who have ever had a broken heart from someone who didn't even know they existed. Here's to the kids who have read The Perks of Being a Wallflower & didn't feel so alone after doing so. Here's to the kids who spend their days in photo booths with their best friend(s). Here's to the kids who are straight up smartasses & just don't care. Here's to the kids who speak their mind. Here's to the kids who consider screamo their lullaby for going to sleep. Here's to the kids who second guess themselves on everything they do. Here's to the kids who will never have 100 percent confidence in anything they do, and to the kids who are okay with that. Here's to the kids. This one's not for the kids, who always get what they want,But for the ones who never had it at all. It's not for the ones who never got caught, But for the ones who always try and fall. This one's for the kids who didn’t make it, We were the kids who never made it. The Overcast girls and the Underdog Boys.Not for the kids who had all their joys. This one's for the kids who never faked it. We're the kids who didn't make it. They say "Breaking hearts is what we do best,"And, "We'll make your heart be ripped of your chest" The only heart that I broke was mine, When I got My Hopes up too high. We were the kids who didn’t make it. We are the kids who never made it." -Peter Wentz
This is where the story begins, not linearly but more like this is where it stalled out. Like “back after the commercial” pause that never ends or the humming with the “be patient. We’re having technical difficulties” sign. St. Valentine’s Day massacre of the brain cells. 8 blue ones will do that, anyone in a white coat will tell you. You’re in your sister’s car on the phone with managers, psychiatrists, and your mom. You love to hate attention. You hate to love attention. They’re telling you to drive to the emergency room. It’s so predictable. ‘I am only telling you this to set the scene’. The cold February air is sobering but unforgiving. It feels like there are insects buzzing through your veins. It’s funny the way the black night sky into the double-doored white-lit corridor of northwestern hospital is like heaven, in the movies. The only thing missing is overweight baby angels and some harps. They are unfortunately on back order. “You know what the Midwest is? Young and restless” is playing on the speakers at the door. Your mom laughs nervously in the waiting room- the thing inside your head bothers her far more than it bothers you. There is a fish tank on the right side of the room, over there, just between the bleeders. The fish in the tank are all a brilliant blue. They are the first thing you circle in a “what does not belong in this picture” quiz. You are mesmerized. An old woman with a bandage wrapped around her head, you know like from the old days, stands right in front of you obscuring your view. She needs them more than you do. They call your name and take you into the next room. The security guard looks at you in a “the fuck are you gonna do” kind of way but then settles into boredom. You almost feel like you owe him a tantrum or some kind of psychotic episode. They say undress and put on the gown. You want to call her up because she knows just how to get you out of your clothes. “You can’t have those in here,” the guard says pointing at your shoes. "The laces are considered a suicide risk. The lights are bright and the door is open- nothing is going on here. You aren’t getting away with anything. You ask them for a pen and paper to write down all the details. They are also considered a suicide risk too and are denied. You tell them in that case it won’t be your fault when your memory is blurry and you don’t get any of this right. ‘I am only telling you this because it’s possible that none of this is right’. They make everything the whitest white in the hospital. The lights are so white they burn your skin or maybe you are just imagining things. It makes you feel more alone than you ever have before. You are lying on a gurney that hundreds of people have died on before. You lift yourself off of it quickly so none of their memories seep into you. You look around to make sure that no one saw you do this, no one saw you acting “crazy”. The security guard is staring at you with the “just give me a fucking reason” look but settles back into the monotony. You cough but you’re feeling down and kind of light and get worried you might blow yourself away- you hold on tight to the rails. The crisis counselor comes into the room and shuts the door but she asks the guard to open the blinds and watch through the window. Now you are the brilliant blue fish in the tank with him watching. Swimming, not quite as brilliant, just as blue. A nurse comes in to draw your blood. She puts the needle in and you get kind of nervous that she is gonna pull “the boy” out of you. ‘Yes I did just drop that reference. I’m okay like that’. The crisis counselor is a fucking amateur. If she had her shit together you suppose that she would be in some nice building in the suburbs with a receptionist- make 200 for 45-minute sessions. She’s fucking farm club not even minor league ball. You on the other hand have read The Pill Book from front to back. You could talk your way out of anything. But you’re too busy swimming for the guard. She says she won’t admit you to the hospital if you’ll sign a contract saying you won’t hurt yourself. You actually laugh out loud at the thought of anyone depressed enough to kill themselves being stopped by a piece of paper. It’s like slitting your wrists over a sink so you won’t make a mess. You joke her “imp gonna have to go over this with my lawyer. And send back some markups”. She’s not impressed. Crisis counselor A is followed by B and so forth- it’s getting hard for you to keep your story straight. You feel yourself bending it just to keep it interesting, adding minute details, waiting for compliments on your storytelling ability. I'm only writing this because I shouldn’t’. You call the one person who matters from the gurney and say, “the Capulets and Montagues don’t have shit on me and you”. You are pretty sure you got her voicemail. You call back and apologize for leaving the first message. You are talking into a phone that doesn’t exist to a girl that doesn’t matter anymore. But who are you kidding; it takes a bit of time to get in or out of your system, the same as any drug. You fall asleep in the room. Your dreams are sterile and uninfected. Wake up; the thought of having a conversation with another human being makes you throw up. You are noticing the way everyone is talking about you- not in a conspiring against you kind of way- and again not in a “the world revolves around you” kind of way- but more the way a doctor and family member would have a conversation over the bed of someone in a coma. “I hope it’s not serious. Is he going to be the same? Will he wake up?”. You understand why there aren’t mirrors in places like this. No one wants to see their cried out eyes or stitched up faces. Every time you look in a mirror you remember you are always one second away from crying or getting it right. It’s fucking pathetic. You pitch and turn. You can’t control your head right now on the inside, there’s no way of describing it. The closest you can come is the movie where the paralyzed man drowns in the bottom of a swimming pool. Your head is that scene. You shut your eyes and disappear off of the face of the planet but only for a second so no one notices. ‘Im only telling you this so you know things could have turned out so much differently’. You are a set of circumstances, nothing more, variables. The only important part of this from the start was: you in your sister’s car in the past tense, YOU in the past tense, almost but not quite.
i understand everyone has their opinion.but if you give a shit about this please stop being so devisive.because our friendships mean more than the way you play us against eachother.bone structure to heart to voice to love to spins to writing to is the only thing that has the chance of breaking this thing down.stop tring to tear this apart.stop your assumptions.i only hope that our friendship is strong enough to withstand the pressure.maybe this will get through.everyone has something important to add and dont have it figured out from a picture or one conversation because we dont from 6 years of this.please. dont push it over the edge.going home to chicago to write and spend time making this stronger.thanks to those who believe and who dont believe. both make sense to me.
blue pills / black nights
tuesday, june 13, 2006history has proven thatyou can put despair on play/.repeat and it will go on forever.and if its loud and bright enough it doesnt matter how much money you have to buy the things you want or how brilliant you are told you are or how the right girls smile at you or how the best cameras flash at is all you will hear or see.posted by xo @ 12:23 AM
i am forever blowing bubbles.... you'd give it all up for an arm and a leg, the right ones that is. or you'd throw it all away for a deep breath of air off of the coast, salty and warm. i am forever playing musical chairs with hotels and rooms and sometimes even hearts. it looks like the set of some play off of the balcony. the buldings dont look real. the lights are too yellow, the grays are too clean. walked in the rain today. thought it would clear my head. wash it out. but it didnt. it only served to make it more foggy. a noah with out the ark, lion with out the jungle kind of thing. its a lonely thing to be loved(hated) by everyone. i love the way my name sounds when it come out of your mouth and crackles through my phone. i know its strange. i want to write more but it wont come out right. posted by xo @ 3:52 PM
This city doesn't have shit on you

you're cute can i keep you in my pocket
inside the outside
Vintage. tagless. We printed this shirt inside so we could let you feel the 80's fade. lets be zombies with hearts and brains.
the last time
you gave a fuck about anything.tired eyes, open just woke up. i never even went to bed.
a fever you can't sweater out
look for this (boy) in the winter/spring. "ill keep you warm at night"
i got the music inside me
the breakdance shirt as promised. the actual shirt is not going to be cut and sew, me and my friend matty g. just get all crafty sometimes. it will be available in white and another color over on the clandestine webstore very shortly- i know what you're thinking: limited to 3 and will cost 1 million dollars per shirt. sike! for once here's just a cheap little shirt idea we had... for the record this shirt is perfect for "lying on the rug in your parents front hall at 4am after you realize you aren't really friends with your friends anymore". its already been broughten. more soon
bedroom boys.
when im home alone, i just cant stop myself.
shot through the heart and you're to blame
limited to 100 shirts made for bamboozle exclusively. front says "clandestine heart's n.j."- there are about 15 left. so if you live in jersey or just love it- you might want one. up in the webstore soon.
i will never forget the day i met you.
words cannot explain. the dark circles from my eyes run whenever you are around.
through the keyhole i watch you dress
dear you, i have nothing to sell or push or really even to say except that i miss you. and i cant wait to tour again, so i can play every night and wash my head of worry. i think of you and worry that you dont think enough of yourselves. you are gold to me whether anyone cares about this stupid band or stupid boy. take care of yourselves.i cant sleep ever because i am scared to disappoint you.

e echoing between your ears. the great thing about being on tour is the hotel wall doesnt care about you anymore than you care about it. i cant wait to be again. so bored the camera cant capture it at all. a wave retracting from the shore- you will move on. you already have. send the "life"guard just for the sake of irony. for a good show. for the reaction that the audience is expecting. im around because i cant wait to hear mumbled words of "i cant believe what i lost" when you look at me. and it is all your loss. funny how cortisol is all you can count on being around sometimes, but the empty spot on whatever bed youre in for the night makes the laughter stop. this never meant anything to you- youre already throwing in the towel with the "who cares" and "were nobodies" but we were somebodies to someone and i think with that ive made an impact than i could have ever imagined i would all those nights as a 15 year old dreamer wanting to prove were not given a life to waste it. funny how im trying to convince myself to get back into that state of mind. rippling effect- lies always sound better than the truth. all but one of the pure gold boys got tainted. we want to be your favorite (poi)son. ive met the most amazing. ive made amazing things happen for amazing people that deserve to be where i am when i dont feel like i do. small, big- whatever- ive made my mark on the world. but im not ignorant- 10 years from now ill be "who?"- that is, if my name is even brought up. when you live this wrecklessly youre asking for a quick end. what is the saying? flash in the pan? something like that. born to be stars- the kind that black out. born to be forgotten. sorry if what i say hurts you. after all, im only being myself- but who am i anymore? i am the best at what i do- and i do nothing.xx

i think the only way i can rely on you is relying on you not to ever all makes sense now,why want something with me you already have with someone else?or could have with someone else without all the complications that come with a boy like me.defects.i wanted things with you i never had with anyone else.but you already have had it all.second place in a contest where there are no winners.if you taught me anything its how to fall in love then hit rock bottom.the dreamer in my believes there is someone out there that will love me.but the realist in me believes they will, and then stop.guess im just wasting my time-and id say im wasting ours but that would imply you ever spent any time on me in the first place.left with lies and half written vows.this is how it always ends,me staring at the phone, staring at the wall.cant stand to look at my hands or my bed.anyplace where you were.this is what its like to wake up while going on 30 some hours of no sleep.tired jetlag turn black eyes blue and make gold hearts rust.the best intentions and mentions get backspaced or typos.think of all the things we could have shared.tired of being on the (dis)honor list.tired of being on a list at all.youll always write the best things coming in out of a heartache.a disappointment.tears hit the paper but itll be some of your best writing.youll just never want to reread it and go back to that time."go back to how it felt."never want to think about her smile, her laughter, her promises.the way they were all fake in the end.this is how stonehedge was built, how the grand canyon split.the way her hair on your pillow feels more like a hotel than a home.just a temporary resting spot.and i cant decide...does it hurt worse to think about your pillow with her head on it-or whose pillow it was on when it wasnt.almost literally behind your back.from trying to believe the best from the worst people.or is it the worst from the best people?the way an drained bottle about to hit the floor feels.a container about to be trashed feels because its insides are gone.just a shell with no use.i think they say not to regret because if you regret you never forget.i think life is a joke no one really gets until the end.til its over.i think columbus first words were "is this it?"i guess this is the "fall" part of being in love.whatever goes up must come down-hopes, spirits, hearts, lungs, love.i dont believe in third chances-i dont think i could live through this happening again.she had on her poker face through every lieand every hand i was dealt was a slap in the face.keep the ring on your finger, im just left with a knot in my thinking love was how the dinosaurs became extinct.either living with it or living without it.i really dont know what would be worse...personally i want to throw myself in the first arms i can find to forget about her.i dont even care whose.the best and the wor(s)e did a horrible thing to me for the last time.

they say things get better with age but we're just getting new stories on recycled paper.the only constructive thing i've ever done was build my life around you.whatever worse case scenerio is always more like deja vu or memories.i turn the last light out in a city 29 hours and 2018 miles away without lifting a hand.sometimes just the middle finger aimed at the nearest mirror.i find myself looking at you as if you were something up on some display out of my reach that was finally brought down for me to touch.and with as shitty as i can be to you-that is always how i see you.someone i don't deserve to have near me-always kept out of reach for a reason.someone too fragile for clumsy, shaking hands.pretty fucked up to be broken by the same hands only trying to hold you."i love you" should never be used as an excuse but i do it anyway.i don't know how you put up with this mess,changing like a chameleon that noone can ever recognizes because he's got a new look every time you see him.when i'm gone i think you just miss the comfort of the shadow past your window.across your body while you sleep.sometimes i think a shadow is all that's left of what i used to be-and he trails along at my feet waiting to make a comeback.someday, we can only hope, he will.xxoo.

but i still haven't grown up.happiness isn't found between lips or sheets-its just stored there for a little while."you're a package"yeah cause someone is gonna someday rip you apart."you're a real star"yeah cause they all burn out eventually.take these troubled thoughts and hit the sidewalks.i won't turn the page but it will still turn on me.sorry is what you feel only when you can't feel anything else.sorry is a placebo for whatever you were supposed to feel but fucked up.i swear the pharmacist must see me coming a while away-he picks up the phone like he always pretends to be too busy to fill/feel my prescription.lying under oath or lying under's the same thing anymore.and whenever there is a bridge in your words you will lie your way across should change your location to somewhere in "denile" since you are drowning in it.and i know as well as anyone else-just because all eyes are on you doesn't mean all ears are
and the worst thing you can do in the bathroom.over here the time and days are far off from what they are back home but i've not changed my clock for it, or my mentality. forgive my morbidity this comes from watching three and a half hour long horror flicks past midnight with the lights out. best way ever except even your own shadow on the wall from your arm reaching for a pillow will make you jump if you aren't paying attention- or are paying too much of it. dark dim lit rooms and strange pictures on familar walls. i've noticed one thing- hotel rooms never really change from place to place- just the bedding, the towels, the pictures on the wall and how many free samples you get in the bathrooms. how many channels are on the tv. if there's a balcony and a minifridge or not depends on the amount you want to spend. every hotel room is as close to home as you can get when you're as far from it as you can be.and no, my plane didn't crash this time either.what is worse than faking being pregnant for attention?having a miscarriage for attention.did you fake everytime you were sick?think of it as the opposite of a growth spurt because we're actually progressing backwards."Negative thank you jesssssus"noone can blame me for a "fuck you" reply to many times did you punch your stomach to get it to turn blue?none?so what was that hospital visit a few months back?no test results or pink strips can prepare you for the way my face hits the floor as the box hits the never really wanted this anyway, just a way to make the boyfriend stay within arm's hand him the pills that would make him forget everything you are about to do so maybe he'll love you again one day.this is me, millions of miles away, missing only my mom and hemingway, my friends and my failures.anything i ever thought was an accomplishment just gave me empty promises and "negative" test results.better luck next time.every day has a sunrise and a sunset.we've perfected the art of sleeping through every sunrise.sorry if my honesty is cruel but it's nothing that can be forgotten or flushed when it's unacceptable or unwanted."forgive me father for i would have sinned had she not changed her mind and decided anyone's life but her own was an inconvience for her. i guess we're okay still right? save that spot at the table in a few years for me."you don't need to see seven horses fly past the window to know the end is near. the dialtone in your ear is close enough.every thought i have anymore is like a frayed noose around my neck and it's just a matter of finding which one is worth dying for.and i have too many thoughts.write off as "unloveable".this is me, pete wentz, not pete wentz from fall out boy, but pete wentz, the loser from wilmette that somehow "lucked" out and got noticed, when he'd rather still be the dork in the corner of the room that nobody even talked to or noticed. pete wentz, single, miserable, and destined to die that way without ever having accomplished anything he really wanted like to be loved for how he is rather than who he is, and have a family of his own.the girl you think has everything really does but it's because she took it all from the time you realize this you don't have any time left.measure your lifespan by how many times your heart can take a breaking and keep on beating.every single significant moment of my life my heart either made it or faded.hearts weren't meant to break, just to beat- and i don't think mine can beat you suicide watch isn't waiting around for someone to kill themselves so you can stop it- it's waiting around for someone to kill themselves so you can see that they don't back out.maybe everytime i write something miserable it's like a game to you- how hurt can you make me seem this time. maybe you don't really get that i am hurting. that behind these words are sore eyes and write sad entries to try and gain friends- then whine how they all are fall out boy fans. i hope your "friends" understand what you've done and support you while you prepare strip after strip to make sure it's really gone.i'll build a wall with all the writers blocks if they keep me from thinking of you.turn the page to another chapter- this one doesn't involve you. your star player's been kicked off the team.
"there isn't a lot of time left..." it's always our song until it comes on in the bar while you're exchanging glances and numbers with someone else. the past week i've been able to pull my face from the floor and look forward to time with you. when was the last time you held someone's hand and looked over every detail and scar, every mark and etched it into your mind? sometimes you get sick of this place- the same boring people and the same boring lines. i want a ridiculous house full of people i'd never really live with to update about. but not really- just a house with me and you. sometimes i think i was born to not fit in, to be the exception. the stares are for a different reason from everyone in the room. at any rate- i have never been so excited to get out of the country, not just to go to the bape store (for serious, i am going to come back with a suitcase full of it- if i can afford to haha) but to get away from insane accusations. i am a nice guy but i have my limits- you know them all cause you've pushed me to them. backspacing is the way to bite your tongue online. only me and the screen know how you really are. there's always two sides to the story and two sides to a page but you can only read one at a time. have another cigarette while you skim past mine.
for the dreams i let slip through my fingers instead of try to reach.... for the one last chance afterhours and the first chance before them. i don't even know how my mind works or if it does. nights like this i just write and write... i'm due for an update anyhow. comments allowed only cause i didn't last entry but it isn't an invitation for a pity party. i deserve every mistake i/we ever make. the sad thing is i know you don't.tonight we are at opposite ends of the dinner table with our knives out to cut the tension more than whatever is on our plates. whatever we say is the hardest to chew and swallow. tonight we are two cars driving headon but neither of us is chicken enough to live through it. i'm probably the reason for index fingers not the ones next to them. would you like me better collecting rust or dust? i've got a shelf holding both that you'd like me waiting for you on. everyday i'm either mostly at fault or all at fault- what does it matter cause either way i'm all alone. didn't even hear the door shut or the cab drive off- just saw the away message that you were at the airport. eyelids as heavy as curtains and serving the same purpose. plans are as followed: sit forehead pressed against cool windows meant to keep uncool things out not keep them in. tonight everything is backwards so this just fits in with the theme.they fill in churches and pews in their sunday best- the perfect image they were told to be ever since they were a child. i just fill in missing words and verses from songs and hope i'm good enough to just barely make the cut in when this life is done with me or visa versa. they bother god with hope for cures for cancer and hope for cures for heartache. i bother god with prayers for silly things like serotonin in the form of prescription pills you can easily access and another night with wrinkles on both sides of the bed. no need to get into spefics and specify a name but then again when was the last time there was a need to? 2003 or 2004 maybe but since then..... this must be the disappointment captain jack sparrow felt when the effect of the rum wore off and there wasn't anymore to get back to that rose colored glasses view on your friends and loved ones- that is if he was a real person instead of just a fictional character you know.stick to crossing your heart or t's cause fingers give you away everytime. you got my number but you don't know the one this does on my esteem yet. narcissus would hang his head in shame at this ego right now unless a mirror was around you know. i'm the worst thing that's ever happened to me. and as the last bird chirps for the last time tonight under an orange sky i hold my head in my hands and count to sleep. not on it.

tired 8am eyes on empty pill bottles i should have had filled before i left ground. haven't slept in days. the wall always seems to be mocking me, and the tiles seem to be waiting with cold, reassuring arms. overheard: your worst desires on the other end of his phone. overseen: fingernails dug into the carpet trying to hold onto the day before it ends. the joke's on you baby boy, you're already done. hotel balconies with loose floorboards are the host tonight. just because you can see it doesn't mean it's yours to have, like the moon and the stars. oh yeah and you. dig a little deeper with the insults, the words like you know me- when i don't even know myself anymore. i like laughing at how off you are. the shovel in my grave keeps my foot out of it. face down in the dirt where every blade of grass is a no leaf clover saying my luck has ran out. "cheer up" and "things will get better" are easier said than meant. the saying 'dying to stay alive' never meant anything to me before i met you. hollywood has a new posterboy but the same old product. pills spilled on the bathroom floor are safe from shaking promises and loose fingers, and those puckered lips looser than the lid. "i'm sorry." split lips and friends, all that's left are footsteps by the staircase, a piece of paper with my number written on it- and my time's almost up. i left my problems behind hoping they would starve without me, only to find out they're still feeding. growing. this is the time when cool hospital sheets and nosebleeds sound like a vacation over a recovery. feed me through my arm cause my mouth's just always only good for words i won't mean anymore when the pills wear off. we really are kept awake by what should be instead of what is. one day everything you ever loved, hated and knew... will all be gone. and it won't matter cause you will be too.
sos baby."now your chest is just whatever."we are the talk about town, the grapevine's being watered.we are the survivers with the last bit of your flesh underneath our fingernails.we are the crossed wire cords calling you in.we are pinching your last nerve by breathing...just think what we could do if we tried.but we are old's kinda weird how i've never felt safer.backspace delete try again.after you type keep enough times in a row it looks spelled weird.the hip bones connected to the computer either get it or you don't.the eyes have it.i lost another eyelash wish on new love.i got plenty to spare- wishes and eyelashes.i like to keep the haters on my back so i always know where they are one step ahead if you're always being stepped on.the expression on my face must read as least until my body is recognized only by the imprints from your shoes.burning bridges with hot air.i've got it all handled.sit feet and head are sore from refusing to is my heart.this is the second before great or the moment after the dust settles.i can't figure out if i am more done with "i'm sorry" or you.the carpetburn on my knees from begging for second chances say more than fingers pressed to the keyboard flashing IMs tell me i've still got a heart.your voicemail tells me it won't last much the underdogs, we need it more.kick me in the face and then ask how my head feels.just sometimes i still got it."they see me rollin. they hatin. patrollin. they tryin to catch me ridin dirty"thank you again for everything you said, it keeps me hanging in there. you might think it's just words on a computerscreen but to me it's what i need to get by. to get past this. to still be here when the cameras are off. you're the inspiration behind, it's time for me to go misuse my week off tour before heading overseas with my ex william beckett. oh yeah- i wouldn't be surprised if we didn't drag

one night stand (off). No more kisses on the neck. (Only during sex or something like it.) Ashtray mints and Winterfresh. Flattery that only works when I'm half past [ / passed out ]. Class is only for the sober and, honestly, I'm trashed. "Keep quiet, nothing comes as easy as you." Easy might be true. (I'm just not sure about quiet.) Try it. Leap. Go. Expect it when it's least expected, get it when no one's got it. Only, I'm on my back and wondering why I hadn't called it. Slut. I'll wear my hair the way he likes if he calls to say he's in town tonight. Mr. Right versus Mr. Right Now. I always said if you didn't move, I wouldn't be waiting around. Not a bed lamb, just a fiend. You could've had the best of me. Too bad. He hit it and you missed it. build ourselves up in disappointment. Strike down another peg. I bet you don't stand so tall. Not when you've been thrown down over the telephone. At least give me the last word (even then, my words are all I have left to sleep with at the end of the night). But you couldn't have that. Reply, hit send. Just another whore. One you won't mind when you remember how to get your feet planted straight on the floor. Another bitch to moan in your ear. Another bitch to moan about. Sure, I swallow bullshit, but I only stomach the truth. I bet in the dark, I looked a hell of a lot better to you. The morning light was just an added bonus, so you could see my name taped on the door and realize how uncomfortable it fits on your lips. And how you probably didn't know it to start. Just a grunt and jerk of approval; another mouth to stain. The pain wouldn't be so bad if it hadn't been spoon fed; the appropriate smile, the hand over the waist. The taste I'm never going to be able to shake, no matter how much I talk about it. Because look at you, growing taller, every time I fret about the kid that I let in.

The "DO"s and "Don't"s of Caring To care in part would be to care in [w]hole. It would be to care for men and women you never imagined seeing in front of you this evening. To watching you walk out doors and cross intersections that have built up more pain; pain you've caused in statements containing "you" and "me" and "decisions"; funny how they align. The decisions of you and me are meaningless to you, maybe me, but mostly you, and I'll act as though you wish me to. It's kind of like when you get to that point in life and you feel like you need to go missing and dial 9-1-1 and tell them "She's on her way to being dead, someone go get her. The Bridge at 4th and Redwood. She's going to jump at 2:11 this morning, only from the left side, be aware." All the while you can hear the dispatcher on the other end screaming out, "And you think I'll catch her? That's not what friends are to do, try dialing someone who says they care." And all this is for one to have five minutes of quiet to think, to imagine, to breathe the air that keeps us going, to see the eyes that wander aimlessly towards the end of the road, to cars crashing and buildings burning. To hearts missing beats, and missing the down beat when the conductor begins the song of Broken Hearts and Lifeless Caring. I'll pretend that you [don't] matter to me and you can do the same- only don't. The more you "care", the harder it is for me to be an angel child. Friends are meant to matter, and when one matters, total domination of hearts and smiles has begun.

awkward and youthful, we tangled. Please, no "thank you's" unless you plan on leaving a tip under my pillow. Still, I won't stoop so low. And you know you'll always get it for free. But, I digress. I'd take "thank you" any day over "it was nice meeting you." Call and return in the middle of the night. (I stayed up, so you're very fucking welcome.) Navigate your way with ease; nothing's changed but the bed sheets. And I'm cool in everything I do, indifferent to your smile and unimpressed with your ability to remember my name. Look, you got the prize. What else do you want? Just don't mistake my quiet for confidence, my cool for experience. Because I've got you in my face, and 1.) I swear I'm not good at this, and 2.) I don't know what to do next. So, I let my mouth do all the talking, only it's just motions and no words. I'll leave the short syllable replies and incoherent stuttering to you. But I'm not getting on so you can get off. This goes both ways, honey. And honestly, I don't have the time or money to be readily at your disposal. Humor me just a little bit more, and maybe I'll think about it

if it helps you fall asleep. Reflection never did anyone harm. Line up your flaws like bottles, and drink for every wrong. The floor is slick with the problems I couldn't stomach, and my throat burns with every shot I swore I could handle. Regurgitate. I guess I couldn't take it after all. The bells ring louder when my head is split in two. And I feel around my bed and find it's only missing you. Drink again. He's just a pill I can't swallow. A hollow place under my sheets that I shouldn't hope to be filled. Raindrops against the pane in double time, and I can't help that all I want to hear is that you need me just this one more night. I'm stupid. And young. And naïve. "Forgive me, I forget myself." Hang me on the shelf and pull me back down when you decide you miss me. Never. Another drink for my worries, I swear this is the last. Penance is abstinence, and I'll abstain when I'm finally feeling sorry. Reflection is bullshit 'cause now I'm drowning in it. I was looking for a title when Midtown came up on iTunes. Browsing the lyrics for "So Long As We Keep Our Bodies Numb," I found the two went hand in hand. So, I'm posting that here as well as an afterthought to the poem or something. "It's what you want; it's your amphetamine. Another night you're settling for comfort in your bed. The more you fill, the more you're empty. You're never what you should be. Here is why you're sad. You're miserable when he is close, so take another drink. Another drink will numb those senses. And make the most of flesh and bones, if it helps you fall asleep. I'm watching you change. It doesn't have to be this way. It gets harder every day, so you keep numb to feel safe. Fuck what you know. Can't you see it's shallow? Every time you swallow, do you get a taste of what you've become? Regrets, they wake you in the morning. You shower, but you're not clean. Please, just listen. I still remember the days when you didn't feel the need to escape, and every demon you never face is the reason you're not safe. Please understand that you've had every chance, you've had all the time all the time in the world. You don't listen."

and i'm telling you. You want to play games? I play them better. No, I take that back. That's just my pride talking, and honestly, I couldn't walk with that much conviction. Duck, duck, goose. You're it, and I'm not. I'm running. You're smiling. Keep at it. I'm still following. I'm still hanging. I'm still watching. I hope you catch me. I hope you notice. You don't. I'm not it. But look, here I am. Just the way you want me. And I stand tirelessly in front of the mirror and fashion myself with your taste in mind. Your hand in mine... it's not. Step back, lady. I got him first. Or maybe I didn't. (With bedroom politics, you never know: boys are recycled, girls are disposed.) Wash off the makeup, you couldn't even tell the difference. Rub that smoke out of your eyes, you still have to make that hour drive. And you can think of me when you go to bed. Alone. Or with her. Or with someone else. But who's even keeping score? I just hope you never make it that far. Your blood alcohol level has reached its max. Of course, you won't realize that 'til you're wrapped around a tree and not up in me.

I hate when you're holding back the urge to cry, and the tears tickle the bottom of your eyelids. It's a light, feathery feeling that just dances just above the lash line. It's absolute torture at the moment. Peculiar how something so slight in touch can effect me in such a way. Maybe i'm just looking into this too deeply. Why must I exploit every new thing I learn about you? This week I realized I am not what you want. I'm not the Scene Queen from the wrong side of the tracks that you've been hoping for. I am not beautiful. I am not the thought that torments you in your sleep everynight. I'm just the awkward Mixed Nuts girl who thinks to much and uses nice words as sugar-coated excuses. I melt in your mouth, but no one likes me raw. Sugar Kane, God i'm plain. Freshly picked and sent off to the nerves at the ends of my finger tips. Stimulant? Maybe. Awful? God awful. I'm the high that get's you arrested. Not the high with slurred one-liners and jumbled kisses. Piece/Peace me whole. I'm confused. I walk the white line with ease because I can't choose one way or the other. I walk straight, I talk straight, I stand straight in the mirror and face who I am. Disgusted is a way to put it. What the fuck do you see in me? You kiss with your eyes shut because you're not impressed. I know. I know you're ways. I know that if you had the chance I'd be tossed to the side. Recycled and Re-used. Beaten and Bruised. Not physically of corse, but within? absolutely. I ramble, but you understand. Perfect for me, Imperfect for you. Baby, who are you trying to fool? I'm the only joke this town has ever seen.

"It feels like everyone is singing heartache...i hope the new songs will truly help you take apart your despair or at least give you a place to hide out from it in. I hope it brings you some sense of peace or rest. Or maybe that when you walk down the stairs into the basement of yourself that you can dust off old ideas of who you are and know that the clouds part from time to time."
Friday, July 20, 2007 the lemon generation. what follows are journal entries i wrote for myself personally on this trip. they are pretty boring and written terribly but i figured i would share this adventure with you... as the only reason WE are able to do this is YOU. each break is a seperate thought only they dont really make too much sense anyway.... please only share this with people you think would care, i dont feel like this should end up in some celebrity blog anywhere... ill add more later as this is just a few days. i apologize i am addicted to verbiage. thanks: and today begins what may be the last real adventure of my life to a continent where life began. i am afraid and excited in a way i havent been in years. gray skies, even grEy, leaving heathrow. time travelers. always backwards and forwards thru time. the lights of the coast bobbing with the bumps of the plane like buoys bobbing in the water. in a plane full of strange strangers were flying down the coast- which one, im not too sure, nor too concerned- im sure they are summering and waiting for life to crawl on as it jets by above them. sheraton kampala- 8am today here, beats 3 am yesterday there.... the national language is english- though there are some 40 different dialects spoken in northern uganda alone. have not seen an insect or human worth having a conversation over or with yet. considering lowering my standards for one or both... and hoping as we leave and strike out for gulu that both the former and the latter become more foreign and intriguing. heres to hoping anyway. we drive everywhere in these funny taxis called "matutus"(?) the drivers speak little to no english anytime anything important needs to be communicated- and seem to have equally small regard for destination and speed limits- ah my kind of place. its strange to be surrounded by so many faces but feel so alone. at least coca-cola stuck their flag in this place- otherwise how could we beat the real thing (maybe who would even want to). first hour of the drive we get stuck in the mud, run out of gas and i have lost my malaria pills. we are off to a good start. there is a torrential downpour outside. im guessing this is what they meant by rainy season. i cant imagine living here. (its not really hot at all this time of year. close to chicago in early september). as tho yr thoughts would never be able to dodge the rain drops as they fell- am i getting thru? i bet there is some great music and stories in those shanty towns we drove by. oh and the drive from kampala was semi-suicidal, cant believe we made it. dirtroads, dodging potholes and oncoming traffic- driving too fast for an ambush. i kept nodding off but patrick woke me up everytime he thought we might die. i wonder how many miles i am away from you right now? t.i.a.- the acronym for the most applicable phrase ever. when the taxi never comes, or drops you off at the wrong spot, when the electricity goes off every single night, when there is sand in your rice- "this is africa" is simply what is said. at an ngo hotspot resturaunt- the only people that go to africa are christian or have a deathwish- not sure where we fit into that. so many white people it felt like the suburbs. there are over 100 ngos in gulu alone and the people still live in utter despair. at dinner people spoke of danger and missions- of the congo- the way people back home speak of gambling in vegas or frat parties. you win some, you lose some. the air everywhere smells acrid and burnt. ive been told its because people burn their trash here. walked part of the way in the pitch black , kind of as tho we had a mugger fantasy. oh well. ended up on the backs of "boda bodas"- these little 300cc motorbikes shooting off under the stars. and they never looked so goddamned bright anywhere on this planet as they do tonight in gulu. im gone. i dont think anyone here wears a watch. honestly. its only either light or dark. havent watched tv in awhile now. weeks, months. turned it on today- such a bore. spent the day in an idp camp pronounced "away" camp. tho i believe it is spelled completely different but the meaning of its misunderstanding is so profound. i am in a hole in my head. the rabbit went down but i havent fit since i was young. just in and out of sleep i have these visions. i dont know how to explain them. they would simply either bore you or scare you to death. they are between caring too much and not at all. between a detailed account and a jackson pollack mess. had them on the drive again. and again as the mosquito net rained around my dreamy head. i am intrigued by places that trade 4 seasons (not the one with roomservice) for a rainy season and a dry season. scratch what i said earlier at night it seems to be hot no matter what and in some occurences too hot to move or care. not sure of where i fit in this world. i am convinced people can go bad, just like food. there is more to this world than collagen and underwear-less crotch shots. i am convinced of this. what we are filming is a dangerous idea- make no mistake of that. i dont cry because the walls are too thin and i dont want anyone to hear me being human. i awoke to a rainstorm that has never been heard in america. the kind that washes the sadness off the backs and out of the eyes of the tired and forgotten. it reminded me of how foreign this truly is. at toast and jam for breakfast again today. just two pieces. cause it was free. tho the westerner in my surely couldve eaten the whole loaf. toast is my favorite of all time. it is simple yet endows you with the feeling of timelessness and spacelessness. you could be eating this anywhere, anytime and it would even taste and feel the same for the most part. i love times when everyone is asleep. the world seems to spin differently. posted by xo at 11:39 AM
Thursday, June 01, 2006a letter to myself 10 years ago, from myself today (idea lifted from d.e.)dear peter,the first and foremost. i miss you. not the people around you or the world you call yours. i am not who you think i am. i am not who they say i am- by "they" i mean the lovers and the haters. i am in between, still normal and ordinary. i dont know what you would think about the place i am standing right now. its funny i never pictured myself here, simply because i did not picture myself existing anymore. i am sure you know what i am getting at. its kind of funny almost. after seeing the top and the bottom. id have to say there is a much better view from the top, but you have alot more friends at the bottom. even when im trying to disappear its halfhearted. im almost there. you know? the only thing you got is that goddamned pen forever. it will be buried in your hand. youre gonna learn alot of things but none of them will include: unconditional love, modesty, grammar, or impulse control. id like to think that you wouldnt hate me. but who am i kidding? spotlight or no spotlight thats always kind of been your thing- its just kind of funny that its in fashion right now. i never did anything just for a buck back then, and i still wont. dont give up on me. in some ways i think i am walking away from all of this as we speak. here are some books you should read they will make your head rest easier at night, more importantly they will help you understand yourself:the old man and the seaour lady of the flowersthe green hills of africathe motel lifethe every boythe heart of darknessfirst love, last ritestake care of yourself. i am waiting on a letter from ten years from now.posted by xo @ 2:05 PM

his and hers.sometimes i cant wait to be forgotten.i wish i could put up an away message in real life and just go to sleep forever.posted by xo @ 3:10 AM
heat makes for the strangest of thoughtsth only inevitablity in life in death.from the moment we are born we are slowly is the only thing that remains horrifying.time to go outside and play.posted by xo @ 2:13 PM

the sky is strange half a world away.i cant wait to get home to you.posted by xo @ 8:51 PM
we are the carriers but you will always be the rescuers.i feel in love with the world. this is out of character for me. the always whining, overdramatic player of the worlds smallest violin. but i truly love the world we have created- us and you. it is a refuge and i think we sometimes take that for granted. but i can tell you i wouldn't have this smile across my face if it wasnt for you. working on the new video- i think some of our old fans are really gonna like some of the subtle touches it will have. i know some of whats going on is a stretch. but come with- because this is the greatest story ever. thanks for letting us be a part of this. this is my rushmore.posted by xo @ 3:55 AM

11/18/2006 - 7:30 AM ESTim just a painter drawing a blank.but i could learn to miss you. i could learn to pity fools- because i am the biggest one and i always feel sorry for myself. i could learn to read your mind but reading in the dark has wrecked my sight.- xo

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