2: 27 A M.

Sometimes, all I want to do is run.

Get the breath knocked right outta me, and feel.

Feel the linger of life breeze through the air--

across my knotted hair, upon my ivory skin.

It's about thirty past two,

it's morning but it's dark,

and I can't sleep.

I w a n t t o  r  u  n.

All I really ask for,

is someone interesting, intriguing--
is that really too much to ask?
Are my desires sincerely too vague?
I want conversations about nothing,
about the meanings behind e v e r y t h i n g.
I want to sit in silence upon a hill that overlooks half of the city,
with a h u m a n who see's beauty in branches and stones.
A  h u m a n.
Is there any human out there who can appreciate my silly mind?
Who can ignore my manic heart?
If There's a human out there, s o m e w h e r e,
who will bother to read between my lines--

Where art thou?

Where art thou now?

Please, come soon. 

(and the whole 'art thou' thing is just a touch of exaggeration, by the way. C'mon, no one talks like that anymore. If Shakes were still around, he probably wouldn't either.)

x  o  x   o .

PRESS PLAY > >

This song makes me want to fall in love, only to get heart broken.

It's so devastatingly--b e a u t i f u l.

I want to do it all.

E v e r y t h i n g.
I want to direct a film that will reach out to the troublesome for generations to come.

I want to write a book that will be held in the heart of an anonymous for years after my death.

I want to learn to paint, and set my thoughts out on a canvas.
I want to climb the second highest mountain in the world.
I want to play a set of seven acoustic songs
under a starry night at a city park,
a set that will reach relation to the twelve listeners there.
I want to fall in love with a stranger for a night, just a night,
and proceed with normality the next day.
I want to take a midnight train ride, just myself, my journal,
a blue-ink pen, a Polaroid 600--
and flee to Chicago's Newberry.
I want to cry inside the waters of the ocean, so I can literally swim in my own tears.
I want to go to Paris, and eat a bowl of spaghetti.
I want to go to Geneva, and for a few seconds,
view life through Laura Marling's manic eyes.
I want to dance endlessly for three nights straight, in the middle of a deserted forest with all my friends.
I want to have the best conversation of my life with the person I'd least expect to.
I want to-- I want to stop wanting so much.
it'll eventually drive me sane.

Do you ever feel this way, too?

Citation du jour:

"But hurry, let's entwine ourselves as one, 

our mouth broken, our soul bitten by love, 

so time discovers us safely destroyed."
— Federico García Lorca

Me gustan.

c h a n g e.

I slept on the opposite side of my bed last night, 

to prove myself that I'm not afraid of change.

Came the start of another morning,

I felt accomplished to still be alive. Better yet, alive and rested.

Ironically it seems, that as I stood up--my bed fell apart, literally. 

A few inches away from my feet, in front of my face, 

the delicate wooden covert took its last toll and collapsed.

All I'm left with now is a box spring and a mattress, 

but man oh man does it feel good. 

I survived the crashing start of a changing day, 

and that dear listener, feels good.

m e m o i r s.

I want to capture it.
I want to capture it all.
I want to capture it all in black and white.
Your smile, the slightly visible violet creases under your eyes.
Our first time interlocking fingers
during that summer evening walk in 92'.
The city, its streetlights, the pond in Griffith park.
That time you accidentally spilled your hot tea on my woven sweater. 
The knots in your hair before getting out of bed.
The steam of our starting mornings---
coffee pot on the stove, traveling train outside our kitchen window...
Our third midnight phone-call conversation.
The rush of being young and in-run, not thinking about love--
I want to capture it, in black and white.
The moments when everything was new,
when every little thing felt exciting.
I want to capture us, our hours full of static and color,
and save them in my memory of black and white.

PRESS PLAY > >

The more I listen to this song, the more I fall in love it ♥

The video is amazing ---
And Yannis? Well, he's a fucking beauty.
F o a l s  is just all around a m a z i n g.

"So I walked through to the haze

And a million dirty waves
Now I see you lying there
Like a lilo, losing air...air
Black rocks on the shoreline surf
Still that summer I cannot bear
And I wipe the sand from my eyes--


It's the Spanish Sahara, the place that you'd wanna
leave the horror...
Forget the horror here
Forget the horror here
Leave it all down here...


It's future rust and then it's future dust--

Now the waves, they drag you down,

Carry you to broken ground.
Though I'll find you in the sand,
Wipe you clean with dirty hands.
So god damn this boiling space--
It's the Spanish Sahara, the place that you'd wanna
leave the horror...


Forget the horror here
Forget the horror here
Leave it all down here
It's future rust and it's future dust--

I'm the fury in your head

I'm the fury in your bed

I'm the g h o s t in the back of your head,

Cause I am...

I'm the fury in your head

I'm the fury in your bed

I'm the ghost in the back of your head,

Cause I am."

Note to self:

I want a man to wrap me up in his arms like this, s o m e d a y.

t i m e .

It seems as if a year passes by in forty seconds.

I want to see forty seconds pass by in a year, for a change.

Journal.

I bought a new Journal last night. It was on sale at Borders.
but the "$5.99" sticker on its front cover isn't the reason why I did so.
I swear, I felt this sort of magnetism pull me towards it.
It's as if, it's already coated with my synthetic words.
It's there. My words, thoughts, captured youth--
all I need to do is decode it. Unravel it.

Like some sort of obscured time-capsule.

An answer.

"Well, I like dried cranberries (I'm actually eating some as I type this), the smell of books, the sound of rain,

I very much enjoy going to old thrift-stores--

I like making up stories of whom the items there used to belong to. 

I like freckles, I think they're beautiful. and the color blue-- 

stamps and postcards, vinyl and type-writers,

the way ice-cream feels when it melts in my mouth. 

I like a lot of things. 

I like it when people ask me to tell them about the things I like."

And he never wrote back, after that...