(via holycreep)
LCD Soundsystem // Dance Yourself Clean
(via halpinmonster)
transition
I sit back and feel glad, actually glad. My isolating long-walk dreams have subsided into occasional awakening confusion. It’s becoming easier to recall without trembling limbs and tired eyes. Nothing could have changed any of the outcome, not even missed calls and passive aggressive gestures. It couldn’t alter the absence of love or the presence of indifference, and it could not make the storyline any more malleable than my sleep. It didn’t change a thing but myself.
And finally, there I am, underneath the floorboards and over my head— we look and smile and dance around in thrift stores because it’s so much nicer than before. It’s so much kinder than my memories and so much more vulnerable than anything I could ever say.
and then smiles cover your heart.
newberry, sc. may 2012.
But I’m unsure of so many things.
(Someone’s got to help me dig)
(Source: lstanley)
idiosyncrasy
I slept until my joints began to bruise themselves this morning. There are drowsy church bells for metronomes and rainy roofs and cars for greeting. I overthink it. That’s the best I can do these days; I think of maps and choices and photographs I never took. Cordobese windowsills and sleepy southern video game shacks that were never represented- not then, anyway. We can do that later; it’ll still be around later. But what is the use of later? All I ever have is now, that’s all anyone ever has, and to act like I don’t know any better is foolish. It’s complete idealism in spite of the fact that I know what broken promises look like, and I know how slowly time seems to drip when you have all the time in the world to sleep in on Sunday mornings.
And the thing is, I’ve held back because I wanted it to be perfect. To do it ‘right’ or not at all. But doing it right is doing it wrong- most of the time, anyway. Why can’t I give myself enough credit to gracefully fail? I need to become unafraid- to become completely and desperately unafraid of creating something as ugly as it is beautiful.
(via speakclearly)
spring refrains
The discord in the semantics make the smallest parts of me feel defeated today. Piecing it together proves tiresome, but somehow I am fixated. My mouth distorts itself with idealized statements for the betrayal of myself; if nothing matters, if you can compartmentalize your actions, then how is this any different? Lines are harder to draw than circles. Trust is easier said than done.
(via nestalilisefta)
on starving thoughts
So many moments have passed that it comes as a surprise to me that my hands still smell like this early morning’s coffee grounds and that my pillow smelled like yesterday’s lethargic, knotted limbs when I awoke. It’s brittlebonecold mornings like this that make a week seem long and the three minute commute to work that makes three years seem impossible. But, I know what self-sabotage looks like when it pleads like a hungry animal. I know how salient it can be when contentment is settling in, singing on a scratchy needle and curling into my heart.
Never fear
I know there’s work here to redeem you
Still, it’s clear
There’s not a word, a word that could save you
(via mxmissiles)
vagabond’s plausible prelude
The daunting sunlight crept in through my shitty plastic blinds this morning as if I had a clue what to do with it. I find it so much easier to lapse in an out of consciousness with words of anthropological jargon late at night, rather than to walk across the splintering floors that I used to love so much. Trying to find my way back is unavailing: every honest effort is returned with apathetic half-glances, resentful undertakings. I’ve seen this before, and I find it hard to believe that there are many moves left for me.
