Tuesday, March 20, 2007
.strange conditions.
It’s a strange coincidence how music directly correlates to others. Others, being past lovahs, not to be confused with lovers, friendly acquaintances, phone date buddies from Christmas past, and those who have made such a fool out of me. The strangest coincidence is how these music moves come out of left field while channel surfing with a new lover, not to be confused with lovah. Ray’s raspy voice telling me what we’re going to do on one channel, reminding me of an outskirt law student and Ms. Furtado reminding once again that I really didn’t mean a thing to a downtown law student. Perhaps the strangest coincidence of all, is the feeling that settles deep down in the stomach upon hearing a third rate euro pop jam that shouldn’t mean anything to anyone, except the person who produced it. The type of chorus line that makes you reach to the phone to sing into one’s voicemail, but some how, some way, the creator of the play list knows that just isn’t possible for you.
Bagpipes still give me goose bumps and absolutely always will. Pale imitations of others will always being filling the pedestal, which I made myself, out of scrap wood I have found along the way, held together with recycled nails and finished with a half fast paint job. Old rusted Cadillacs will remind me of fields collecting rain. Silver pools of light will fill up corners coffee shops where an attempt at the great American novel fell off said pedestal and result in bruised elbows.
Religion is for people who don’t want to go to hell, and spirituality is for those who have already been there. It’s the difference between hearing the sounds of violins long before it begins and arguably making the most comfortable bed in the city while others run in the rain. It wants to do it better, and keep it together. Itching for a fight in the loneliest hour, just to make up and love. Loving the one you’re with. Non-traditional students making musical transactions.
Crash and burn mentalities that leave rifts. Broken falls and cushioned heart breaks. All the wild horses that love all the stars in the sky. Fun songs that result in laughter, the most fun songs that leave scars. Red cheeks from embarrassment, wet pants from jokes, and lost moments at stoplights. Sunday kind of loves in heather gray, sweatshirts; stolen articles. It is love, It is survival, It is being alive. Don’t take away me today to give up yesterday.
Stories and cigarettes ruin lives of lesser girls. But don’t girls just wanna have fun?
Bagpipes still give me goose bumps and absolutely always will. Pale imitations of others will always being filling the pedestal, which I made myself, out of scrap wood I have found along the way, held together with recycled nails and finished with a half fast paint job. Old rusted Cadillacs will remind me of fields collecting rain. Silver pools of light will fill up corners coffee shops where an attempt at the great American novel fell off said pedestal and result in bruised elbows.
Religion is for people who don’t want to go to hell, and spirituality is for those who have already been there. It’s the difference between hearing the sounds of violins long before it begins and arguably making the most comfortable bed in the city while others run in the rain. It wants to do it better, and keep it together. Itching for a fight in the loneliest hour, just to make up and love. Loving the one you’re with. Non-traditional students making musical transactions.
Crash and burn mentalities that leave rifts. Broken falls and cushioned heart breaks. All the wild horses that love all the stars in the sky. Fun songs that result in laughter, the most fun songs that leave scars. Red cheeks from embarrassment, wet pants from jokes, and lost moments at stoplights. Sunday kind of loves in heather gray, sweatshirts; stolen articles. It is love, It is survival, It is being alive. Don’t take away me today to give up yesterday.
Stories and cigarettes ruin lives of lesser girls. But don’t girls just wanna have fun?
// posted by .elle. @ 12:09 PM 
