Mr. Yellow Comes to a Hastings near you.

Here is a play list for the show:

1. It

2. Hematoma

3. Rocky Raccoon (Cover)

4. Buddha

5. Running

6. James Taylor (Cover)

7. Orphans?

8. Untitled

9. Demonic Possession

10. Wires and Waves (Cover)

11. RaeAnne

12. Norwegian Wood

Come check it out...If you want.

Ode to a Building at Six a.m.

Industrial carpet,
greets me,
in shades of every neutral tone.
Firm and unyielding,
a friend.

These plain white walls,
vaulted ceilings,
that contented hum
of the air control.

The far off vibrations
of brass
and bass
the alien spaceships
that glare

An empty place,
Full of me.

If I strain my ear,
Remembered noises reverberate.

High heels and bootclad feet,
Crowds that jostle for their seats
(in a dignified manner of course)

Curled hair, crisp shoes
The growing crescendo

Sweeping bows,
the bright blood of flowers
on the ground.

I lay embracing,
Industrial carpet
and remembering.

Happy Endings, 150 yen

So I quit smoking.

Haha.

Sometimes I am so grateful that I am fantastic at arguments.
Cake really said something wise in the "Love You Madly" song.

I don't want to wonder, if this a plunder, I don't want to worry if we're going to stay together till we die.

Maybe it's better to just focus on what you will do today. Who knows when I'll die? I could get in some car wreck or my heart could give out. Maybe the soup pot at work will electrocute me. So in conclusion, fret not, it just ruins things. So, my love made love with a beluga whale. But it all turned out okay and that's what matters. Seriously.
But I really should quit smoking my delicious vanilla sweet dreams. I think my lungs are giving. out.

And you know what? You're fat.

But so am I.

Goddamn swingers.

Why do I set myself up for these trainwrecks?

The very worst part of it all, I still want to call. I think when someone treats me like a complete douchebag, I just want them so much more. It's really sick.

SO other news, I am a failure in most aspects of my life. I work so hard at my stupid dead-end job and all I receive are criticisms. I scrape the doorjamb clean, clean under the ice maker, and it's never enough. If I didn't love living so decadently, I'd walk right out.

Radiohead is so beautiful. It makes my ears dance.
Mr. Yellow is dead in the water. I'm no closer to becoming a musical sensation.
I wish with all of my being that I was a better person.

Alas, it was not meant to be.

Fumes

With a swift flick of a thumb,
I set the eye to burning slowly away at its own flesh.
The water-spotted windows rolled partially down,
Familiar tunes drifting lazily in and out and around,
Plumes of sweet smelling grey rise slow and twist into columns,
Fingers go numb, body gets fishy,
And the relief of it!
My mind like a bright balloon, up up up into azure sky,
For one moment, the swamp of responsibility,
The neverending mire of flies and gnats gnawing vicious,
Gone.
I know,
My poor alveoli, charred and crumbling,
I know,
Destruction, damnation, cancer and carcinogens.
Smokes weaves its way out the window,
My breath mingles with clean sky,
I smile and snuff out its life.

Misery makes bad company.

I wasn't sure what I wanted to write about, just that I wanted to write something. I think that I've begun the slow road to madness. It's not as glamorous and interesting as I used to imagine. Sylvia Plath, that Girl, Interrupted book, The Snake Pit, and One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest were always my favorites.
Now I'm not so sure. It's one thing to enjoy how strange the perspective of a crazy is...It's another entirely to experience the loneliness and self hatred that lead to these trains of thought.
It's just one of those life lessons.
Or maybe life's cruel jokes.
Once you get there, "it fucking sucks." (I'm just quoting my mother, another madwoman in my family.)
I could have had bliss and love for years and years. I let some ridiculous idea fester in my head; and it branched off and grew into a sickness that I finally succumbed to. I made the love of my life let me go. I tortured him for weeks and weeks before he finally said, "Goodbye, I love you."
Maybe it was for the best. A nutcase like myself should spare others from my company.
They don't realize that. They only see my "lovely" exterior. They only notice that I'm fun, witty, and quirky.
And I am. Even in the depths of depression I can summon up remarks that make people smile.
But I'm not stable. I can't be trusted. One minute life is going swimmingly, the next I've become convinced that I need to wreck it to make things interesting.
Oh well.
Things are interesting I guess.
(And the picture I put up is just something freakish I found on the internet. Who would dress their child up like that?)

There's good in everyone right?

Maybe not.