Tag Archives: Zamily

How I Have Been Different

11 Feb

– gained ten pounds & some-odd noticeable inches
– stopped wearing jewelry (have started again)
– started wearing the same thing all the time
– started avoiding eye contact
– added roughly forty gut-wrenching songs to music library
– began to sift through previous past
– memory loss
– started avoiding mirrors
– negativity
– started inactively [but noticeably] avoiding sleep
– huge grade drop; loss of comprehension and slash or concentration
– loss of writing
– gain in casual musical experience
– [ironic] decrease in tolerance for intolerance
– started to cry when well-enough immersed in any story
– loss in retention
– obsession with past
– skepticism
– idiocy slash loss of the Right Thing To Do

I’ll Just Post It Here

30 Jul

A magnetic poem

Not necessarily about today. It could be. It could not be.

I Love It When This Happens

9 Jun

(So close.)

Angels & Airwaves

29 May

Friday morning was rushed & forgetful. No pillow. No paper. No time. Car ride.

And do you ever lay awake at night?
And do you ever tell yourself, ‘Don’t try.’?

Friday itself was comforting, but out of place, somehow. I didn’t have anything. I wasn’t brave enough to do anything. There was no frisbee.

Don’t try to let yourself down… Don’t try to let yourself down.

Friday night was just like I’d remembered it… The depression set in well enough. I was lucky to have Jim. ‘You still awake?’ No answer. Glad?

And do you ever see yourself in love?
And do you ever take a chance, my love?

Saturday morning wasn’t too tired. Breakfast. No writing. Like always.

Because you know that I will… Because you know that I will.

Saturday itself was normality and repetition. Gaining confidence. Skip. Lurch-skip, out-skip. I didn’t know where love was.

So hear this, please; and watch as your heart speeds up endlessly… And look for the stars as the sun goes down- each breath that you take has a thunderous sound…

Saturday night was bottomless black despair. Po-jazz made me glorious… Then po-jazz made me want to break things. Tree. No sleep. Journal. No sleep. Jim. No sleep. Downstairs. No sleep. Sneak. No sleep. Upstairs. No sleep. Journal. No sleep. Need you… No sleep. Then- Run.

Everything, everything’s magic.

Sunday morning was love, and all was right.

Just sit back and hold on, but hold on tight… Prepare for the best and the fastest ride. Reach out your hand and I’ll make you mine-

Sunday itself was an end to many things. Breakfast. No meeting. Bagpipes. Little arranging. Need us…

Everything, everything’s magic.