[Page #1]
Your clothes don't smell like you anymore
I just wanna say
She's my baby
But they up and took my baby away
I still remember when I didn't know where I
was going. When I didn't know every street in this
town. I wish I could get lost again. I want to
discover something new in a place I know better
than myself. I want to wake up with a new scar
on my hand that wasn't there yesterday.
With a radio to bring in music from the cities a
thousand miles away, you can dance with me
anytime, anywhere. People just want to move their
bodies. I just want to move our bodies. That's
what this is all about. It doesn't matter how
you do it. It just matters that you're dancing.
Your clothes don't smell like you anymore
I just wanna know where you've gone
Please write me a letter or phone
I can bring us both back home
[Page #2]
This city sucks my soul (takes every little bit now)
Makes you wanna lose control (of myself and everything around me)
new york is giving up on you
(not for the first time!)
New York is giving up on you
I just want to help find a way through
these troubled times this is a mess
I want you to leave this place again
Sweetheart I won't give up on you
I feel like every day is a sunday. Like I can't
enjoy the good today because tomorrow I'll have
work or school or whatever. And I'll just spend
the whole day worrying about tomorrow. But there
is no anything tomorrow. Just another Sunday.
Everything was so much brighter before. The sky,
my hair, The colors. Which I know is just a
stereotypical depression symptom, but that doesn't
make it less real. I know the colors are the same
as they've always been, but they don't light up for
me like they did before. Everything hurts, I'm
losing hair, The weather keeps changing. I hope
in summer I am happy. I hope in summer
everything will be ok. But until then, the
world just isn't as bright.
[Page #3] Disordered Thinking
Today you're telling me one thing and I
believe it today.
You're capable one day and then suddenly
something stops you the next.
Hard time believing someone who could
change day to day.
constant fighting inside my head for who/whats
in control
Never knowing what to do b/c only 1 "me" really
knows what the problem is
Sometimes I know what's up but sometimes
I can't
Most people have the same problems the same
times but my problems change depending on how
I am. Different things affect me differently
depending on which state I'm in.
I try to remember. I want to remember.
And sometimes I can't
It's hard to feel relieved when I can't always
focus on betterment.
Not letting myself freak out; ie being too calm
is a product of this turmoil
[Page #4]
I'm trapped in this room! And you in
yours 100 miles away. But you're surround
-ed by that which brings you joy and
I am 20 miles outside the center of
a city that I'm convinced is trying to
kill me. Just let me out! Over and
over, I yell. The city doesn't listen. My
hands are cracked and bloody and I can
barely squeeze them shut. I can hardly
make it to the train that takes me out of
here. I try to leave and I just come back
at night. The sun hurts my eyes and the
dark hurts my head. I want to go back. I
want to move forward. Neither fantasy is
real. I am stuck here. I want out.
Save me the burden of taking the A
And apparate from 168 to rockaway
Surely the beach won't be cold
I'll slip the sun a 20 to keep us warm
All day, in rockaway.
I lose it, and I've lost it, and it comes
and it goes. I ought to leave before
it comes again. so that I won't have to
lose it.
[Page #5]
I-I wanna lodge a customer service complaint
with God. That guy -- he really fucked me over.
Figure he's got, like, an HR department or something
to sort that shit out. I just want... I don't know.
Does he do financial compensation or something?
Maybe like a heartfelt apology. Something
sincere.
It is tradition to cover one's face in the blood
of the first stag killed. Walk home through the
hills with the ruby-red syrup of life coating thyself.
Were I to murder the Stag of my past, how would
I wear its blood upon my face? Will it wash
off in the stream or will it stain my face and
lips like those of a child who has gorged
themselves on shaved ice, holding their mouth
tightly closed so as to not reveal such gluttonous
sin to their mother? Will I wear the stain of
my stag's blood with comtempt or with honor,
for such is worthy of the dead that die to give
us life? To answer these questions I must go
out hunting.
"Oh, look at me. The way I used to be"
- Dave Bixby
"I'm losing my edge"
- James Murphy
[Page #6]
Gun are loaded with silver bullets tonight!
Things are not always perfect on the surface of the
sun. I wish Kaneda would just up and throw
me in.
Stop it! Stop sitting there and staring and
just bleeding out all the words you'd wish
you could say! Hurt me!
the world grows old.
and nothing, nothing smells fresh.
the world throws his swim trunks on
And jumps through the ice!
You and I
We can't see things clearly now
switched out glasses again
It's given me a headache!
144
[Page #7]
I don't ever want to be in love again. That shit
clearly fucks with your mental in some debilitating ways.
While I feel like the previous notes/letters pretty well
encapsulate my mental states through time, the overarching
love theme gets a bit boring after a while I feel. Can't
this guy do anything other than love? It appears I can.
I'll still act insane in the pursuit of romantic
interest apparently, but all that really does is get me in
trouble at work. Not quite the all-consuming love thing.
I'm pretty happy now. A little schiz-ed out, maybe.
And I could do to be more punctual, or spend less
money on gas and bridge tolls. I wonder who this
letter is to. Maybe
I just want to have a book that tells me how I felt,
because I can't remember myself. I no-call-no-showed
work today. Just felt kind of off. I'm happy where
I am. Boyfriend's room (full of punk rock and esoterica)
physically. on top of the parking garage mentally. I think
I've been steadily climbing that parking garage, the
stained stairs and red checkered cardboard late night
fry tins blending into one another as I ascend. I'm
on top now, looking down on campus, on all of you. What
a view from up here! I hid a picture in one of ryan's
posters. Les jeux sont faits! // pour qui êtes-vous
enraciné? THE CHIPS ARE DOWN! WHO ARE YOU ROOTING
FOR? Well kid, who are ya? who are ya rooting for,
that is. I think the first question's a lot harder to
answer. or to know. The chips are down. I may not
know Who or what I am, but I sure as hell know what
I'm rooting for. Make haste, -K!
[Page #8]
Wondering what my half hours are worth. $6.75, after
taxes. Sitting passenger in a filthy truck, so much sweat
pouring down my face that I can't tell if i've been crying
or if the heat's just made rivers of my eyes. She told
me that she often wishes to return to the inbetween --
2 a.m., in my bedroom, begging for just five more minutes,
not wanting to go home. Go Home! I feel like I'm
always just asking for those five more minutes. I don't
want to go home. to face the next day. My half hours
are worth six times the look on her face, I guess.
Enough about that. I've songs inside my head, without
melodies or words. Screaming them 'till my voice cracks
couldn't get the songs out of me. into the World. They're
stuck inside me. CD loader's jammed. Times get bad
and I wish for the worse. In Summer, I wish it was
Winter, and in Winter, my hands crack 'till they bleed
and I wish I was covered in wet dirt. Note to Self:
You do NOT want to be covered in wet dirt. ever. bleeding
hands hurt a million, but they're bleeding clean. When
covered in wet dirt, I am typically also bleeding. Dirty,
sunburnt blood. I bleed too often. In more ways
than one! I didn't bleed from the crash, but my pin
did rip off my bag. Now it's stuck in this room for it
all. Stopped travelling. I hope that car crashes
have different effects on Pins than they do on Me.
That one day I'll stop bleeding, stop asking for just
a little more time, stop wishing winter was summer, stop
screaming songs with no lyrics just to get them out of
me. STOP EVERYTHING! And then what's left?
Just me! Stopped and moving. Concerned with mental
traffic. bumper to bumper, then it's not. FLOOR IT! -K
[Page #9]
Autumn....New York...................................
.............................burnt down..............
smoke................................................
......................falls apart from the bottom....
...........................everyone..................
...back from the edge.....fear.......................
....onto the tracks..................................
.................................someone.............
.......without looking...............................
.....................................................
.............................................tattooed
man............................................book I
couldn't make out....................................
............................I tried to...............
.....................................................
.......................breathe.......................
.....................................................
.....................................................
.....................................................
...............................................failed
kiss.................................................
.......................breathed......................
.....................................................
.......................breathed......................
....watched the skyline paralax......................
the couple........The Chrysler.......................
the apartments................................Finally
cold enough to close my jacket. Got here by memory...
..................Working it out. Drawing in my head.
Autumn in New York. Take a deep breath in. -K