Old

Jan. 2007 to Aug. 2008

My foundation is a collage of sounds and images;
but this time and space dull the intensity of the colors, so it's never accurate.
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You're ten and a splinter gets so deep in your finger that you decide it's not worth trying to get it out.
You let it go.
And you get used to it
And you can't even feel it anymore
And you don't even really think about it
Now i'm a house up for sale, cleaned up and ready to be sold to the highest bidder.
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If only we were older, no one could hold us back.
And when we get older, we're never looking back.
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Won't you come back to life for me?
And do shooting stars stop if you get close enough?
I don't mean to fog the display case, but I still leave my initials behind.
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Your ideas smash together like bumper cars
Now, you go to burden them with mortality
Write it down on a piece of processed wood and keep it in that drawer
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Catch my tears in a paper cup, and i'll drink to that
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Cold beats
Symmetry?
You know it's trouble when habits precede human instinct,
and you don't bother to question something just because you're comfortable with accepting things a certain way
So, truth is pushed aside and now you have to decide what you're really here for
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Cigarette butts and screaming moving trucks
Grey pebbles and their dance at your feet
Hissing tears down your cheeks
The smell of burning rubber
and all the ocean's chaos
The thought of that taxi drove me far away
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"You cannot become a man without becoming the Man"
-Jeffrey Eugenides
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"I sit alone in my room. I'm so damn depressed. I reenact plays on the polo field. I've never ridden a horse. Recalling my days in North Africa. I've never crossed the Atlantic."
-Jenny Lewis
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