Lana Del Rey

Hey Old man... stop complaing about how much the National Post costs. And you're giving me that condescending smile again. You're uncomfortable around me, you don't get it. Which is OK, neither do I. You're all pissed because you should have fucked a twink like me when you were my age, now you're all washed up and blaming the garabge from yesterday on me; on us. And us is that girl that I'm shivering with in the corner. Did you notice that we were trying to build a home. No of course not because you're shitty. I don't have to look up to you, I put shoes on my feet this morning. Old people like you invented my generation, and we're not really revolting, but let us have it.You should think twice next time you shit.

But anyways I was trying to listen to Lana Del Rey.

A Milli

She was sitting in her broken room. Filled up with all her memories and all the ashes she'd aquired.
She couldn't sell anything she owned and was trying harder than anything to cut loose.
She had a borrowed pack of cigarettes, which was wet now
She couldn't tell you if she was further forward or more backwards than ever before.

She had made a few promises in the recnt weeks and she found it harder to move on,
on to whatever was that those fairies meant,  in her dreams..
Places where kids kick sand at eachother, but laugh instead.

Tonight she'll be working. Tomorrow will be the same.
She'll work herself into a fluster both nights, but fix herself up when she gets home.
Thinking of old injuries and maybe new hopes, never deep enough, she'll let the flicker experience emotion for her.
She'll sleep, experiencing pieces of genius and wonder in those dreams of hers.
When she wakes up she'll love those images, and they'll carry her.

they say these lives of ours aren't worth a dollar, but i'd like to think more.
those shoes you bought yesterday are nice, but that thing you said while you were falling was even nicer.
and i hope you continue to have such thoughts, you're worth a million... I'd say so.

Green Room

I cuddled with a Porn Star and decided I wasn't going to ask her any questions. When she started coughing I tried to call her sexy for trying and it backfired in no way other than I felt silly. She burrowed her cheek into my shoulder and she found herself comfortable. I drifted... where have i been? and what are these places that i continue to find myself in? Shut up a voice said... I kept drifting. I soon was on a unicycle I wasn't scared but I was getting the sense that I recently was and all was ok now. I was thinking about being sick and mad for feeling guilty about being so. I hushed and kept going along whatever little ride my sleep would take me... soon i found myself running from hillbillies, scared to be doing so but always assured that i'd make it out safely. I remember climbing a hill with them chasing after me and the whole time i knew there was plenty of space between us, so I didn't panic. And I climbed until I was somewhere else, somewhere else where an old girlfriend told me how she missed that thing that i used do. Her smells brought me to old homes, and as nostalgia does I thought... I thought about spending a life always worried and refusing parades. I smiled... for the moment I was choosing contention, and life seemed perfect. Not through lust or love, but through something simpler. Helplessness and an understanding that there are only a certain number of couches in a room and you only get the empty spaces. You can look around and nobody ever seems trustworthy, but sometimes they're are people who won't ask. And so we kept sleeping... until someone made us perform.

Assholes

Tell me I'm wrong about everything, even somethings. I'll give you a million reasons and at least an ear full for being right. You kids are too proud, always feeling a need to be so. Always feeling a need to shit on other peoples wedding cakes. First world problems. I don't feel bad that you feel guilty. I don't care to listen to your EP. I often wish there were less people in this world, so I could sit with the with the content. I hate your ambition, and I hate whatever it is you're proud of tonight. I know you'll lose your shit tomorrow and turn your back on everything that made you somewhat anything. Re-invent yourself I could care less. I've got shitheads and porn girlfriends. And they don't make me ashamed and I only cry when I think how guilty you'll make me feel. And yes I've fucked up, a million reasons for shame, and I'm sorry.

Titus Andronicus - Four Score and Seven

(Pt. I)

This is a war we can't win
After 10,000 years, it's still us against them
And my heroes have always died at the end
So who's going to account for these sins?

And I don't know who here is my friend
Well, I'm certain that I've seen only men
Christ, fuck me if I can remember when
Will I never be lonely again?

Well the tides are a-turnin' once more
Six dark-winged devils line up at my door
Each one is more evil than that which came before
Seven angels find me spread across the floor

You'd like everyone to believe you're a star
And I'll admit that it's worked out pretty well so far
But when they see the kind of person that you really are
Then you won't be laughing so hard
No, you won't be laughing so hard!

You won't be laughing so hard

(Pt. II)

"We're all depraved and disgusting" I spew like a fountain,
"And debased, defaced, disgraced and destroyed,
"Most of all disappointed" I say atop this mountain
As I urinate into the void

Fuck I'm frustrated, freaking out something fierce
Would you help me, I'm hungry, I suffer and I starve
Oh I struggle and I stammer 'till I'm up to my ears
In miserable quote unquote awe.

But however since our forefathers came on this land
We've been coddling those we should be running through
Please don't wait around for them to come and shake hands
They're not gonna be waiting for you

'Cause these humans treat humans like humans treat hogs
They get used up, coughed up, and fried in a pan
But I wasn't born to die like a dog,
I was born to die just like a man
I was born to die just like a man!

It's still us against them

And they're winning

When we all used to hang out...

Little girls lost... never returned... grown into woman... forced into the world. Never laughing. Lying in a puddle. What could an ageless wonder be? And when does the grand opening close. They say  the old only trust what they can only be certain of. And the young trust what can't be real. "A dog in a park", you say "life couldn't be better". I'll say it again our moments are better remembered. And when they close the drugstore that we all used to hang out at, I hope you'll be there for the come down. Because I know I was never there for the high.

Respect

My question was: how do I kill vanity. How do I distract myself from vanity, from insecurities? How can I rid myself of these discomforts so I can get to the core of me, and without personal distraction get work done; listen to anyone for once. And this I did ask you. You answered my question with a question and gave me a book about the east, I was amused with you're pretension. So I read you're book and did some traveling, I put my fingers in some interesting places. And now I realize what I was really trying to ask. And what I was asking was the answer to my peace. And I'm ashamed. Realizing this, I don't want your answer or anybodies, nor do I care for; not yet. So you were right when you said I didn't know what I was trying to figure out. And in trying to find the correct question I found myself more removed. I enjoy my confusion, and the confusion of my community. And it hurts most of the time, but I'll live in it without pride until it hurts too much. So lets take peace off the table, and I like my self-doubt, I also like hers tonight.There was a time in my life when a man told me he'd tell on me if I tried to steal a candy bar, he made sense so I put it back. I'll ask more questions later.

Google tits

Google tits and see what comes up. Kiss a naked form and figure how dance works. Slice skin and witness fake rhythms. Move faster than anyone could. Fall apart in front of crowds for no reason. Tell experts their wrong and that nothing they say makes sense. Care more about your joke than anything else. Stay hard and laughing behind your kid eyes. Make less sense than more. Swing like Elvis and trees. Kiss the wood before and while it rots. Think of little things and only little things. Never have a punch line. Piss people off and always acknowledge that they have nipples. Never find an ending.And keep going for as long you cam, and reaallu ebtil ppl tell ou to stop talking and if you can then do. Smile like they do in those good movies where they could find it all after a series of pretty grand dramatic actions. make sure to watch everything and then grow old.

short-changed

Ask me more questions. I'll be be able to answer all of them. I  know more than I own. I could kiss any girl for magnetism, always feeling short-changed. And I'm an addict, but not worried . I miss more friends than I have, and I care less than I ever had about anything. I just need a drink and for your tits to stop talking I already told you how I felt about my ideas. You said "nothing is epic and that the baseball kids are starting to make sense", but I still like my poetry.

That wasn't water and I have to work in the morning.

 I was sitting at that table last night when you couldn't talk to me. I was asking you about that divide you seemed to be thinking about, finding myself right in the middle of it. As you tried to explain I remember turning away to look at a clown, he invited me over to a his table, I accepted without thinking. And when I later held his hair in the cold I couldn't help thinking that I'd made the right choice, until early this morning. But I really didn't mean what I said, I couldn't tell you now who those thoughts belong to. But a pin-up girl once told me about not thinking and seemed like a worth while pursuit. But mostly aggression and a late confusion result. So when that horse that I bought finally breaks down I'll call for the driver of that old car that we used to drive, he'll show up barefoot telling me there's not enough room. I grumble and place my feet toward a walk, and try best to stretch out the day. Just don't spill that on carpet, but I did already.

fuck titties.

fuck titties.

Chalkboard Children

Chalkboard children always messing with my shit. I never said anything, pretty sure about that. Used to speak, but only in secret verse. Always a laugh, subtle tear, haha. Go fuck yourself... oh no, Casanova just walked into the party. What could it all mean. I know! Really? Fuck yes. Hells no. But he's dressed more appropriately, and oh so appropriately. Is that a woman? Never. Really. A child in a room full of drunks, and I was thinking about Tuesday, last Tuesday. Did your Uncle sell you that stuff yet? What do you mean no? Oh you were kidding... thank God! Let's go. Oh, ok. But wait, I thought.... Oh fuck me. Nice tits, wrong answer. Lets go. Of course. Where was it, oh over there of course. Did she? No way! haha. Lets find her. OMG! Blur. Small kiss. Cute face. Chalkboard children be gettin' me all wrong. I never knew. Did you want to? I thought you were kidding. No but really I thought you were kidding. Whatever, right. I could. Maybe. Wait, who's that? Oh fuck. Let's get outta here.

Scraps.

I meet the new girl last week, she said she only did girl on girl stuff. I made her smile regardless. She later told me about her black crown, and what it meant o her at that moment. She made me think about life. Cute, dancing, like a flame, it could be extinguished in a moment, any moment. I later watched her with her clothes on.

  

I used to dance. I learned how to move; floating. Pushing and pulling always a compliment to her gown and the floor. What it killed it for me was a woman chewing tobacco.

I was smoking outside of the 711, she looked about 14 in her slutty Lady Gaga costume. I took her home, and thought... its best to pretend our dreams come true.

comments on the wanted poster in the drugstore...

comments on the wanted poster in the drugstore...

There was a time when I'd say anything I'd want to, feeling ridiculed of laziness, and stupidity, I've always kept away. I realize something i learned five days ago that substance is less than 5% and that style is all that is important. Because I can be anything I want, even if it is shit. I could say that the good fellow church worked hard for at least one weekend, but they never really seemed to own up to the expectations of the community at large. That when in doubt I used to think about a lizard, calling him out in the middle of the night, begging, but mostly looking for a lost cause. I remember promising cute cousins, people i never really knew that the end of the world would never come, though i still believe it ain't. I could kiss an oak tree, tell her she was great and get a million text messages between now and six months. I'd go out for coffee, watch a man who looks nothing like a man, pander around crying, but not really crying, i didn't think he could anymore. But i was never that guy. so id breakfast in the evening, and try to be intellectual, and the places i was doing so seemed accepting about the whole thing. But whatever right, as long as you're not straightforward, and the kids don't come home before they've gotten into trouble... than who gives a shit. I'm a bunch of words.

Lexi Belle

LOVE.

Little Girls love to get high.

This time of year it is hard not too find oneself pondering. Debating within about lessons learned, and memories of the previous months and years. We’re a people of continuity; yesterday was fine because tomorrow I can continue, taking everything from yesterday with me. And that’s how the majority of us find peace. And that’s how I find peace during the Christmas season. Solace and contention with it as I wait to try and be a better me. Though I always worry (and maybe so does everyone else), there is a strange fearful content within me during these dark snowy nights. What will tomorrow bring? More importantly can I deal with it? And even more importantly if I can, how will I go about it? Will I be bold, brave? Will I fall weak in my time of action?  And when I find beauty, will my timing be right? Will I even notice it? I need to start this by asking all these questions because I myself am afraid of answering. I need to be sure what we’re talking about. Even though I am certain I am not. This is going to be difficult.

I am done trying to find beauty in things. I’m sick of disappointment. Every beautiful thing is chained to something unbeautiful. Something sick, disturbed, something that will break my heart and make me reevaluate everything I was so sure of. I cannot blame a girl, or any one else anymore for how I feel. Putting a face to my shame. Though pity has only left me penniless. Take your solace and be content with it. You’re too young to know truth anyway. And then they were right. And beauty, what would I know of it anyway.   

           

I can sense it when I see decay. The death of a rose or a child, the tears of a young girl as she becomes a woman or a woman as she holds onto her youth knowing that its long gone. These have always appealed to me; a broken heart, a ruined car, a Golden temple as it burns, or a starving man with the assumptions of a point. Why though? Because re-birth is not a decision, change has already taken place, and going back is not an option. I guess loss is my idea of beauty. Or at the least it’s something that will make me cry.

           

The starving artist, was he brilliant or an idiot? Artistry. I can do it; we are allowed to believe in anything. So we do. We paint so that we can make them think differently, and we do paint. Though who’s to say that killing yourself in the process is the right answer, that there is truth in any of our actions. I get it, his body was the canvas, like a dancers. I love entertainers. Though if his actions hold truth and beauty because of it then why don’t we praise Doctors, Astronauts and farmers. Why is it Rock Stars, poets and Jazz Musicians that clutter the covers of our magazines? Maybe I read the wrong magazines. If it was me I’d say the stoics were beautiful; like oak trees, their temperament and endurance to be anything other than human. Though people only notice the starving because it reminds them of their own weakness, and that they are human. And human is beautiful, because it is fleeting, dying, and always imperfect. Sure some will say a starving man is a pathetic man, but give them a dying dog and they will cry. There is no difference between the man and the dog other than his choice. And because of that choice the man will always have more beauty. Pathetic he still can be. Though because he can understand the outcomes of his actions, his beauty lies in his failings.

My eyes are glazed as she asks me to dance. I’m more important than everything she’ll ever experience. I’m on to something tonight, look at my beauty. She will, and I’ll kiss her friend or forget.

Can beauty not be glorious? What it is with this obsession to see it turn to chaos, to see the glory of a Golden temple burn before one’s eyes. What, so that we see it reduced to our level: vile, pathetic, mortal. This must be a modern way of thinking. The Romans did not think like this when they built their coliseum or the Greeks when they constructed Athens. It was the reproduction of the Glory of the Gods they were seeking.  And what is that if not only a hope for the Glory of humans. When I see a skyscraper or hear that score, I find proof in human potential. And that’s when I get it. As I watch the movie and listen to that score, I see a boy running towards a girl. He’s running because he has already lost her once. He has felt pain, and understands beauty as truthfully as he can, and it is her. The score represents not his loss but his power to overcome it, to learn and be human. As he runs the music builds and we feel, we feel the power of the human spirit and that is true beauty. And when he kisses her, as we know he will, we cry and swell inside not because a boy loves a girl, but because a boy has found something if only one thing that he knows for certain to be beautiful and hold truth. And that’s when I understand that beauty can be glorious, and that it is not a skyscraper, a huge score, a dead flower, or a broken temple. It is not a boy or a girl, a kiss or a tear.  That it is yearning. And it is human. And human is always beautiful.

And then again that is just one take on it. Aesthetics are the one part of philosophy that everybody likes to talk about, though nobody seems to make any sense when doing so. Everything seems pretty under-the-moonlight, or from a distance, or when its in your pocket. But the thing itself never lives up to my standards, she never does. Romance and beauty is to be naive of a thing’s real potential. It’s hormones, endorphins and science.  It’s private, and always subjective, impossible to hold, impossible to understand.

And the only difference between the man at the bar, drowning because he can’t be a father and the man who designed the skyscraper are a few man-made adjectives. They are both beautiful, and both can inspire a 14-year old girl.