collection 4

9/18/2006 - 2:13 AM ESTas this album unfolds i have begun to realize that it is a nocturnal record. so much different than the way the others gave a windows down summer sun/nostalgia vibe- i guess maybe thats only my own head but this one feels moonlit. the way things are different as they pass in the dark. the way we can be ourselves after dark. the coach always turns back into a pumpkin. nothing is the same at 6 am. somehow the things we say mean more in corners of dancefloors and we focus on love below the waist and outside of the head. the way they say "youre committing slow suicide" when someone lights up or cuts loose. but arent we all. everything we do just shortens our life, every breath is one less. but its what makes everything so treasured. in my head. it aint a funeral babe, i just want the headline to die. recovery is the new drug. in your average week i my head lays on so many different pillows. daylight is your enemy. im in love with lovers who dont love me except under the pale light of the moon. i want to buy (uni)som(e) sleep but over the counter doesnt cut it whether it be hearts or capsules. wreck it all, one heart at a time. sleepovers are as good at they were 10 years ago. my dog is proof of puppy love. hollywood is a good story. but best friends are better.- xo
i am watching season 3 of arrested evelopment straight through on dvd. i dont care when i fall asleep. dying laughing while the room next door is filled with snores. sleepovers are fun again.
"sleepover princes vs. goodnight girls"
for one week we are wrapping our heads around your town. its good to have words you can understand in your ear. its good to be back. (we stole this picture back). robbing lips, kissing banks under the moon.
blame Ryan Ross for me wearing eyeliner again
basking on the beaches of crocodile tear swamps.i couldnt stay away.the words are obession and always have been.heartache lite. diet love.i am a catch and release boy.kind of.put summer in a pine box.i went to sleep in june and woke up in the middle of september.making out on stretchers, getting some in the back of an ambulance.my hips are dry docked.love is incidental.the best versus the rest.'they wipe their feet on our dreams'.ive got 27 years hiding in the smile wrinkles of my eyes. the real ones and the fake ones take up the same space in skin.no one gives a fuck about eyes that are always leaking,besides youre just hushing headboards that are always creaking.its become apparent that there may be noone thinking of you the way i do at this very moment.were "out of the woods".but i am in love with the tree i used to lie under.eyes green with envy or brown and full of shit.or somewhere in between.i want this to be a remix of our nighttimes.posted by xo @ 12:40 AM