Today, I slept.
I’ve felt this feeling before.
Not just lonely
Forgotten
Dead to the world
Unnoticed
A glimpse for many
Pictured in a different world.
I want more.
Rather be alone
Than tolerated.
I want respect
More than attention.
I’m depressed
Not desperate.
Do women wear less and less clothing as every festival winds down or is it just a punk thing? Clothing should never be a reason to stay home.
I want The Gloryholes to play my birthday. You think I’m kidding but I’m not. I won’t rule anything out until I actually hear the word NO.
The show at Hi Tone last night was the most fun I’ve had there this year. Pears made me wish I was young enough to be a slutty groupie again.
Resting up with my cat. Like you do.
Watching the Wheels…
Ants ranging about
This once fertile table
Deciding between spilt beer
Or not
A civilization
Of scavengers
Dictated
by a woman
What if the queen
Had ambition?
Maybe she just needs
Someone to pine for
An easel to fill
Another trip to the beach
One more glass of wine
By the time you know
The world has moved
And she with it
Thanks for playing.
I was at the Lamp earlier.
I want to go on record that fear is the mind killer and should not be used for motivation. No matter how cute the acronym is.
I’m dedicating my 100th post to the Memphis Punk Festival. I just showed up for the opening show at Murphy’s. The crowd is high energy and ready to go. I’m here early because at 7pm I need to go visit Amurica for the Spillit slam. The theme is music, so I feel like it’s a respectable detour from the festival. Not to mention I can’t wait to tell a story. After that, all music all the time. Or something.
I’m terrified. Of the stage, not the story. I don’t have all my details hammered down but I’ve gone over the idea for almost a month. I just need to go up there and not stumble on my words. I even wore sexy underwear for luck.
The band just started up and everyone came alive. It’s superb metal. I think Spit is playing. I wanted to stay for the Cheerbleeders especially but it doesn’t look like I’ll get the chance. There’s something about scream-singing that comforts me. I want to believe I could find that thick mix of honey and gravel deep down in my own chest but I would probably giggle when I try.
And now I have a crush on the bass player. He looks like a handsome version of my 9th grade boyfriend.
Heads nodding
In approval
Bodies jitter
To the beat
Noise wavesCrashing against
Faces and walls
Excitement mixed
with body odor
and heat.
I find out information
Just by listening
What I do with it
Is the real secret
Without intervention
People are uninteresting
Raised by baby boomers
In cocoons of false praise
Never trusting, always lusting
She wears a tie
That dangles
Between breasts, fully covered
The only thing between me
And that mountain
Of bad decisions
Is a thin film of respect
A pulsating mass
Of unidentifiable guilt
Slouches against my will
Power of integrity
To day.
A beautiful place.
All the things we do we do for all of the people to see. Even when I think about that while the things that happen here are going the
b
e
a
u
t
y
Is part of the problem. CAn’t make the lines bend QUitE the way I was trying.
I’ve always liked Hockey.