12.20.09
I turn my back to the phone but it keeps popping up under my eyelids while I try to sleep. You don't call me enough. Ever even. I sort of realized that you always let me down. And I don't mean sometimes, I mean always. Your words are like scribbles, a bunch of crap that you shouldn't take seriously.
I asked you once if you loved me. You told me that of course you did. More than anyone. That's when I realized you're nothing but a liar. I'm not that easy to trick. You always hurt me, never help me, and make promises you can, but won't keep.
Love is like a superhero. It stops that shit from happening. It forces you to be at least an ounce of a good person. You're not a good person. You're an abismal person. Makes me sick really.
So don't try to talk to me and don't try to touch me. You don't deserve me. I'll answer my phone though, because you never call me, and maybe if you do... Well you may have changed your heart.
...
This is the worst kind of love.
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Saturday, December 19, 2009
...
12.19.09
Are you ready to be liberated
On this sad side city street?
While the birds have been freed from their cages
I got freedom and my youth
My name is Brody
and I'm from Melbourne
Fitzroy, Melbourne
I grew up on Belle Street
Then on Bennett Street
My mom kicked out
My dad for a better way
She found a way
On a spiritual penury
Working single mother
In an urban struggle
Blames herself now
Cause I grew up troubled
It hit me
I've got everything I need
My one heart
Felt too much from the start
I've seen people come and go
Living large and living low
You can build up your walls
Sitting on death row
Let the curtain fall
On your murdered soul
Wash it all down
Swallow your story
Get smacked off your head
Go down in drum roll glory
Won't solve it
Commiting self-inflicted crime
Go and pull the trigger
This will be the last time.
It hit me
I've got everything I need
I speak of the truth
The truth of the heart
Like a desperate thirst
In a raging drought
Hang in
Time flies by
There's an everlasting battle
For eternal life
I love a man from California
He's the prettiest thing
We've got the same disorder
The way you feel
Well it's okay
It's never going to change anyways
It hit me
I've got everyone I need
Are you ready to be liberated
On this sad side city street?
While the birds have been freed from their cages
I've got freedom and my youth.
I've got freedom and my youth.
Are you ready to be liberated
On this sad side city street?
While the birds have been freed from their cages
I got freedom and my youth
My name is Brody
and I'm from Melbourne
Fitzroy, Melbourne
I grew up on Belle Street
Then on Bennett Street
My mom kicked out
My dad for a better way
She found a way
On a spiritual penury
Working single mother
In an urban struggle
Blames herself now
Cause I grew up troubled
It hit me
I've got everything I need
My one heart
Felt too much from the start
I've seen people come and go
Living large and living low
You can build up your walls
Sitting on death row
Let the curtain fall
On your murdered soul
Wash it all down
Swallow your story
Get smacked off your head
Go down in drum roll glory
Won't solve it
Commiting self-inflicted crime
Go and pull the trigger
This will be the last time.
It hit me
I've got everything I need
I speak of the truth
The truth of the heart
Like a desperate thirst
In a raging drought
Hang in
Time flies by
There's an everlasting battle
For eternal life
I love a man from California
He's the prettiest thing
We've got the same disorder
The way you feel
Well it's okay
It's never going to change anyways
It hit me
I've got everyone I need
Are you ready to be liberated
On this sad side city street?
While the birds have been freed from their cages
I've got freedom and my youth.
I've got freedom and my youth.
Friday, December 18, 2009
...
12.18.09
Go tell your fucking friends
What I thought and how I felt
How punk fucking rock
My pussy smells
Now did you tell them?
Go tell your fucking friends
What I thought and how I felt
How punk fucking rock
My pussy smells
Now did you tell them?
...
12.18.09
These are my tits yeah
And this is my ass
And these are my legs
Watch them walk away
You are not the victim
Though you'd like to make it that way
Pretty girls all gather round
To hear your side of things
Your side of things
Your shining path
These are my ruby lips
Better to suck you dry
I am sorry I am so nice to you
HandKnifeHandKnifeHandKnife
All you do is destroy
All you do is fuck up
All you ever do is take
TaketTakeTakeTakeTake
...
I Love Kathleen Hanna
These are my tits yeah
And this is my ass
And these are my legs
Watch them walk away
You are not the victim
Though you'd like to make it that way
Pretty girls all gather round
To hear your side of things
Your side of things
Your shining path
These are my ruby lips
Better to suck you dry
I am sorry I am so nice to you
HandKnifeHandKnifeHandKnife
All you do is destroy
All you do is fuck up
All you ever do is take
TaketTakeTakeTakeTake
...
I Love Kathleen Hanna
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
...
12.17.09
It's hard for me to write to you when I am writing for you. Its like trying to send my heart in the mail. There just isn't room.
It scares me that you can read these words right now. It scares me that you can see me being honest. I like my dishonesty. I like the picture it paints. I like how much prettier it makes me.
Well at least makes me seem.
I drew a picture of us tonight. I came out all blacked out. I couldn't help it. I can't really exist with you. Not happily anyways. Unless you give up your happiness. I don't want to be a crazy selfish bitch so I'll leave it alone.
I hope you understand. I hope you see my point. I hope that maybe we're growing apart just so we can grow back together again. I really doubt it though. I'm moving away next month. I'm starting a new life, becoming a new me. One who shines a little more brightly. It just can't work can it?
It's hard for me to write to you when I am writing for you. Its like trying to send my heart in the mail. There just isn't room.
It scares me that you can read these words right now. It scares me that you can see me being honest. I like my dishonesty. I like the picture it paints. I like how much prettier it makes me.
Well at least makes me seem.
I drew a picture of us tonight. I came out all blacked out. I couldn't help it. I can't really exist with you. Not happily anyways. Unless you give up your happiness. I don't want to be a crazy selfish bitch so I'll leave it alone.
I hope you understand. I hope you see my point. I hope that maybe we're growing apart just so we can grow back together again. I really doubt it though. I'm moving away next month. I'm starting a new life, becoming a new me. One who shines a little more brightly. It just can't work can it?
...
12.17.09
Don't talk to me anymore
I can't bear to listen
Remember when I loved you?
Oh long gone, so long gone
I need to shut up
Because I can't help but lie to you
Dazed by those days
Seems like today
Your crooked nosed smile
Your unorganized grin
Kick me out
Or at least let me in
Standing in the hallway
Between here and there
Nowhere at all
For me to hide here
Except in the walls
In the walls around my heart
Don't talk to me anymore
I can't bear to listen
Remember when I loved you?
Oh long gone, so long gone
I need to shut up
Because I can't help but lie to you
Dazed by those days
Seems like today
Your crooked nosed smile
Your unorganized grin
Kick me out
Or at least let me in
Standing in the hallway
Between here and there
Nowhere at all
For me to hide here
Except in the walls
In the walls around my heart
...
12.16.09
You came to my door yesterday. I peeked through the peephole and saw you standing there, biting your lip and figetting your fingers. I asked who it was, as though I didn't know, just to stall for time.
You said, "Me."
I said, "Well it shouldn't be."
I don't need you on my doorstep dragging out this pain. I know you want me back, but my string has already snapped. You can't play me anymore. And I won't sing for you.
You knocked again, "Just let me in. Please."
I opened the door, realizing that looking you in the eye will actually give me the advantage. You're so fucking meek. Can't even look me in the eye for half a second. I want to grab your hair and force you to look at my face.
See the sorrow babe, see the sorrow. Cry my tears for me maybe, because there's no way I'll unleash them while you're here.
You claim you love me, as though that's a remedy for how fucked up you are. I've put the pieces of your life back together for you three times. Three times more than I should have.
You broke my friendships, dragged me back into my addictions, and never let me sleep a single night until you'd gotten what you wanted. You held me there with emotional abuse.
I don't need you anymore. I've learnt to love myself. This is probably the one thing I'm truly proud of myself for; learning how to love myself. And honestly, you're probably the only thing in my entire life that I'm truly ashamed of.
You came to my door yesterday. I peeked through the peephole and saw you standing there, biting your lip and figetting your fingers. I asked who it was, as though I didn't know, just to stall for time.
You said, "Me."
I said, "Well it shouldn't be."
I don't need you on my doorstep dragging out this pain. I know you want me back, but my string has already snapped. You can't play me anymore. And I won't sing for you.
You knocked again, "Just let me in. Please."
I opened the door, realizing that looking you in the eye will actually give me the advantage. You're so fucking meek. Can't even look me in the eye for half a second. I want to grab your hair and force you to look at my face.
See the sorrow babe, see the sorrow. Cry my tears for me maybe, because there's no way I'll unleash them while you're here.
You claim you love me, as though that's a remedy for how fucked up you are. I've put the pieces of your life back together for you three times. Three times more than I should have.
You broke my friendships, dragged me back into my addictions, and never let me sleep a single night until you'd gotten what you wanted. You held me there with emotional abuse.
I don't need you anymore. I've learnt to love myself. This is probably the one thing I'm truly proud of myself for; learning how to love myself. And honestly, you're probably the only thing in my entire life that I'm truly ashamed of.
Monday, December 7, 2009
...
12.07.09
Once you asked me what made me so invited. I think it's because I really miss the time I knew without anger. I should explain.
I knew without anger the way most kids knew without sex. They heard about it, maybe even saw their parents doing it, but because it didn't exist in their world, they slid it away as something else - something outside themselves, something they don't care to know. They just kept going, through cartoons and crunched leaves and smears of grilled cheese.
I always knew about sex, somehow, but anger - I had no idea. And then one day, I just... did. I saw anger everywhere, in everybody. The way a waitress put my water down too hard. The way my mom scrubbed a pot really fast, or really slow, and it scrapes the sink like something should die but it can't. I see anger the way that creepy kid in the movie sees dead people.
I can't make it go away, but I can shove it under the back of my brain, as long as I feel something similar, but not quite the same. You saw me shove it away, all the time, and you must have known. The way I take my hand, and ball it up until my nails crush into the crutch of my palm. I like to keep it there until it leaves marks.
Last year I was at a party with a psychic, and she took my palm and said I had two lifelines. she said I was very blessed because two lifelines meant I'd never be lonely. But I don't have a real second line, it's just the scars from my nails that keep cutting me down. I guess it's dangerous to fake another lifeline, but I didn't do it on purpose.
What is on purpose: Me calling you back. Because let's face it, you're the worst friend I've ever had. I knew you would be, right from the beginning, right when we said "hi" at the same time, but here's the thing:
That's why I loved you.
Anyways, take care. Maybe one day you'll get what you want, which is what I already have, and then hopefully you'll realize - it doesn't mean what you think it does. Actually, it doesn't mean anything. And right now, I have to make myself believe that you don't mean anything, either.
Oh, also: I have to get ready for this thing tonight, so can I have that dress back? Just leave it outside my door. I can't let you in.
Once you asked me what made me so invited. I think it's because I really miss the time I knew without anger. I should explain.
I knew without anger the way most kids knew without sex. They heard about it, maybe even saw their parents doing it, but because it didn't exist in their world, they slid it away as something else - something outside themselves, something they don't care to know. They just kept going, through cartoons and crunched leaves and smears of grilled cheese.
I always knew about sex, somehow, but anger - I had no idea. And then one day, I just... did. I saw anger everywhere, in everybody. The way a waitress put my water down too hard. The way my mom scrubbed a pot really fast, or really slow, and it scrapes the sink like something should die but it can't. I see anger the way that creepy kid in the movie sees dead people.
I can't make it go away, but I can shove it under the back of my brain, as long as I feel something similar, but not quite the same. You saw me shove it away, all the time, and you must have known. The way I take my hand, and ball it up until my nails crush into the crutch of my palm. I like to keep it there until it leaves marks.
Last year I was at a party with a psychic, and she took my palm and said I had two lifelines. she said I was very blessed because two lifelines meant I'd never be lonely. But I don't have a real second line, it's just the scars from my nails that keep cutting me down. I guess it's dangerous to fake another lifeline, but I didn't do it on purpose.
What is on purpose: Me calling you back. Because let's face it, you're the worst friend I've ever had. I knew you would be, right from the beginning, right when we said "hi" at the same time, but here's the thing:
That's why I loved you.
Anyways, take care. Maybe one day you'll get what you want, which is what I already have, and then hopefully you'll realize - it doesn't mean what you think it does. Actually, it doesn't mean anything. And right now, I have to make myself believe that you don't mean anything, either.
Oh, also: I have to get ready for this thing tonight, so can I have that dress back? Just leave it outside my door. I can't let you in.
...
12.07.09
All night long the hockey pictures
gaze down at you
sleeping in your tracksuit.
Belligerent goalies are your ideal.
Threats of being traded
cuts and wounds
- all this pleases you.
O my god! you say at breakfast
reading the sports page over the Alpen
as another player breaks his ankle
or assaults the coach.
When I thought of daughters
I wasn't expecting this
but I like this more.
I like all your faults
even your purple moods
when you retreat from everyone
to sit in bed under a quilt.
And when I say 'like'
I mean of course 'love'
but that embarasses you.
You who feels superior to black and white movies
(coaxed for hours to see Casablanca)
though you were moved
by Creature from the Black Lagoon.
One day I'll come swimming
beside your ship or someone will
and if you hear the siren
listen to it. For if you close your ears
only nothing happens. You will never change.
I don't care if you risk
your life to angry goalies
creatures with webbed feet.
You can enter their caves and castles
their glass laboratories. Just
don't be fooled by anyone but yourself.
This is the first lecture I've given you.
You're 'sweet sixteen' you said.
I'd rather be your closest friend
than your father. I'm not good at advice
you know that, but ride
the ceremonies
until they grow dark.
Sometimes you are so busy
discovering your friends
I ache with a loss
- but that is greed.
And sometimes I've gone
into my purple world
and lost you.
One afternoon I stepped
into your room. You were sitting
at the desk where I now write this.
Forsythia outside the window
and sun spilled over you
like a thick yellow miracle
as if another planet
was coaxing you out of the house
- all those possible worlds! -
and you, meanwhile, busy with mathematics.
I cannot look at forsythia now
without loss, or joy for you.
You step delicately
into the wild world
and your real prize will be
the frantic search.
Want everything. If you break
break going out not in.
How you live your life I don't care
but I'll sell my arms for you,
hold your secrets forever.
If I speak of death
which you fear now, greatly,
it is without answers,
except that each
one we know is
in our blood.
Don't recall graves.
Memory is permanent.
Remember the afternoon's
yellow suburban annunciation.
Your goalie
in his frightening mask
dreams perhaps
of gentleness.
All night long the hockey pictures
gaze down at you
sleeping in your tracksuit.
Belligerent goalies are your ideal.
Threats of being traded
cuts and wounds
- all this pleases you.
O my god! you say at breakfast
reading the sports page over the Alpen
as another player breaks his ankle
or assaults the coach.
When I thought of daughters
I wasn't expecting this
but I like this more.
I like all your faults
even your purple moods
when you retreat from everyone
to sit in bed under a quilt.
And when I say 'like'
I mean of course 'love'
but that embarasses you.
You who feels superior to black and white movies
(coaxed for hours to see Casablanca)
though you were moved
by Creature from the Black Lagoon.
One day I'll come swimming
beside your ship or someone will
and if you hear the siren
listen to it. For if you close your ears
only nothing happens. You will never change.
I don't care if you risk
your life to angry goalies
creatures with webbed feet.
You can enter their caves and castles
their glass laboratories. Just
don't be fooled by anyone but yourself.
This is the first lecture I've given you.
You're 'sweet sixteen' you said.
I'd rather be your closest friend
than your father. I'm not good at advice
you know that, but ride
the ceremonies
until they grow dark.
Sometimes you are so busy
discovering your friends
I ache with a loss
- but that is greed.
And sometimes I've gone
into my purple world
and lost you.
One afternoon I stepped
into your room. You were sitting
at the desk where I now write this.
Forsythia outside the window
and sun spilled over you
like a thick yellow miracle
as if another planet
was coaxing you out of the house
- all those possible worlds! -
and you, meanwhile, busy with mathematics.
I cannot look at forsythia now
without loss, or joy for you.
You step delicately
into the wild world
and your real prize will be
the frantic search.
Want everything. If you break
break going out not in.
How you live your life I don't care
but I'll sell my arms for you,
hold your secrets forever.
If I speak of death
which you fear now, greatly,
it is without answers,
except that each
one we know is
in our blood.
Don't recall graves.
Memory is permanent.
Remember the afternoon's
yellow suburban annunciation.
Your goalie
in his frightening mask
dreams perhaps
of gentleness.
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