do you know something I don't know?

"I wanted to drink, I wanted to dance, I wanted to love you, I wanted a fucking chance."

-- kid canaveral; good morning.

bruises.

you give me all your bruises, and i think i thrive, these purple little movements.

our night/for now

as doctor who says, Pain is easy to portray, but to use your passion and pain to portray the ecstasy and the joy and magnificence of our world... and here, in this infinite night, with no work tomorrow, and having just seen toy story 3, which was really quite beautiful in itself, some small kind of closure that I won't try to overwrite it. but I don't understand the crime there, in saying something was powerful, and beautiful, and just it caught in my bones, and how could I stop it from there.

I am listening to I watched, as you disappeared, rhys marsh and the autumn ghost. It crackles, and swims together, into this night.

I will one day create something great. But, for now, I am creating every single day. And the few people who, feel these, and smile—that's all that matters, for now.

all of the vaults.

you're pretty with a fault, slurring through your kindness, spat in secret, boy of the vaults.

it's hard to move you.

"you're barely getting by, you're never satisfied, open your ears and shut your eyes, it's hard to move you, when you're dead inside, this emptiness in your eyes, can't impress you when you're not alive, why do we even try?"

-- a thorn for every heart; it's hard to move you.

...collision

And then I am some magnet, and my charge is their charge, and we destroy each other, or the spark, or anything.

majorcollider

I want to start my project. I want to contain my anxieties about it, about what people would think, and laugh, and smirk silently. I want to do that. So I am doing something that is going forwards. I want to stop being sad. I want to stop that. I am sad, I guess.

Don't you ever feel like the wrong end of the magnet, that that you are positive, and everyone else is negative. And they are meeting in book stores, and in violence, and in plastic cups. And they all ignite a little spark, and you can feel it all around you. The more you look, the more sparks there are to feel. And for once, you wish everything was still. But that is bad, because how can you hope for happiness, if you deny others theirs. I always struggle with that. I hate myself for that. Because I really do only ever wish you well. But my own wells are all drained.

Too fucking slow. Too warped. Too ragged. They pass, and my fingertips repel them. I couldn't get any closer.

paint stripper.

i think i'm really through with meeting great people. i mean, i am meeting them, and i am wishing i was not. great people carry colours, and those get stuck all around me, and when they leave, i'm emptied once more. but they just don't take their colours back, they strip away my paint. and right now, i'm giving them too much, always too much. they'll reduce me to a couple of pickets. and i can't keep them away, just pickets.

i don't want to accept this silent world. and i don't want to write my noise. i want the whole damn fucking harmony.

not really awake just.

the cat strides out from the coffee cups, the boy with the ceiling all around his ears, the mess of sleep and cutting light.

falling through doors

we only want the mud on our shoes, a vice cut through this stillness of night.