has gone by since I wrote anything.
This post is mostly just blog for blog's sake.
To reassure you I am alive.
Now Playing: The King of Limbs - Radiohead
Showing posts with label who cares. Show all posts
Showing posts with label who cares. Show all posts
Monday, February 21, 2011
Monday, February 14, 2011
It is February
fourteenth, and nothing more.
By nothing more, I mean nothing of importance for me at least.
For the last two February fourteenths of my life, I have had someone to spend it with. This year, I don't, and I feel liberated. In fact, I'm quite happy about where I am.
I spent the last two with a boy and Ben Folds, who had conveniently scheduled shows within days of the fourteenth both years.
While those were two of the best days of my life, I'm still quietly okay with being in my room, kept company by a few cigarettes and some iced tea.
I'm alright.
My future is not in jeopardy because of one lonely day.
For clarification, I'm not that lonely.
There is a boy though.
That small amount of me that can still feel things isn't expecting anything, but I caught myself wondering today, whether I would get anything.
I won't.
That's alright.
As time passes I am more and more certain that he cares for me, but as my best friend said, I'm still in denial and I still feel like it's too good to be true.
I adore him. I have for a while.
I enjoy looking forward to seeing him again, and even though I don't like being so far from him, I feel it makes things better.
He'll be with me in a matter of days, and I am happy.
So even if I don't have someone to kiss this year, at least I have someone to miss.
I'm alright.
Now Playing: The Earth Sings Mi Fa Mi - The Receiving End of Sirens
Thursday, February 10, 2011
A little farther
away from here
the sound gets quieter.
There's not a lot that we can still force out of our mouths.
It's more silence than anything else.
The ghost hands that we all remember still play a few chords here and there,
the noises still coming from the piano in the corner.
They're all in a minor key.
None of us can be happy where we are.
It's an overwhelming feeling of loss for all of us.
Fight, break, heal, break, and fight until we're nothing.
We lay on the floor near each other and stare into the ceiling lights.
We can't even begin to touch.
The hands that used to be magnets for each other are now full of static electricity.
This scene is full of old grays and washed out colors.
Like we got a bad developer who doesn't really know film.
He pulled the darkroom curtain back one too many times,
these pictures aren't the real thing.
Now playing: Happy Songs for Happy People - Mogwai
Friday, February 4, 2011
Whoever you
talk to in your sleep ties your hands and your feet
and you wake up like a pig awaiting slaughter.
These same people you know, they know more than I do.
They can show you your unborn daughter.
You see her face every night and every day is a struggle, staring hard at faces around you.
Trying to put shit together, does she have the nose or the eyes
of the girl two people ahead of you in line.
I wrote this and I fucking hate it. I'm going to post it anyway.
What a strange night.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
I fall asleep
alone every single night of my life and I'm tired of it.
Where did we get off track? I live in a fucking devil town.
Now Playing: Noise Floor, Bright Eyes
Friday, January 14, 2011
It's just a normal night,
for us. We live a vagabond lifestyle.
We've got nobody to answer to, no authority to tell us where to be or when to be there.
So we drive, sometimes on the highway, and sometimes in circles.
I don't think we ever plan to go anywhere, we just get there.
Generally the only things in our possession are what we can fit in our backpacks.
A notebook and a pencil, ipod and headphones, a few dollars, some cigarettes and a camera with a fish eye lens.
We could listen to the same shitty songs on the radio all fucking night.
It's alright, we're alright.
We're going places someday.
Now Playing: Diamond Eyes - Deftones
Thursday, December 16, 2010
You're just too hip
for me, man.
This is not me denying that I have hipster qualities, because, let's face it, I do.
"Hipsters are the friends who sneer when you cop to liking Coldplay. They're the people who wear t-shirts silk-screened with quotes from movies you've never heard of and the only ones in America who still think Pabst Blue Ribbon is a good beer. They sport cowboy hats and berets and think Kanye West stole their sunglasses. Everything about them is exactingly constructed to give off the vibe that they just don't care."
— Time, July 2009
Here's what I think.
"Hipsters" are okay, until they become exactly what they don't want to be. Arrogant and overzealous about their tastes in whatever the topic of discussion may be. At the core, they don't want to care, but then you're caring about being seen as not caring. The only true "hipsters" are those ones who honestly never meant to be, and there are not too many. Jack Kerouac led the sort of revolution that began in the 1940's and 1950's, and it was brought back today to describe a kaleidoscopic subculture, because they needed a nicer name than the what-I-think-is-significantly-better-than-what-you-think's.
There lies my only problem with being referred to as "hip," because I am able to respect the choices of others and take influences from different cultures and grow from them. Because I wear certain clothes, listen to certain bands, or ride a fucking fixed-gear bike, does that make me someone different than I have always been? Not until I start to judge other people who wear certain clothes, listen to certain bands, or drive a van. Then I become someone different, and then I become fully encompassed in a lifestyle of irony.
I would rather just be a person who can, at the least, tolerate your views and opinions without imposing my own on top of them.
I'll listen to Coldplay when I please, because they're talented and make me feel things. I'll wear the shirts I made because I'm proud of them, and I'll watch the movies that hold my attention. I'll drink my PBR because it's what's at the party, knowing that it's the equivalent to cardboard flavored fizzy water. I will wear whatever hat keeps the sun out of my eyes or the cold from my ears. I have no idea what kind of sunglasses Kanye West wears, and he surely didn't steal mine, because they're in my bag right now. I certainly don't fit the mold entirely, but there's no question that I have my moments.
Overall, there is a significant piece of the culture that deals directly with a lack of respect for anyone but themselves, and that is the part I don't wish to be associated with.
You call it irony, I call it hypocrisy.
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