the deal

the deal: the deal is that my computer (actually, my ex's that he's letting me use until he gets back from his world travels) isn't saving my stuff. so i'm posting these lyrics i wrote up here. it's just so that i don't lose it while restarting the computer. but i'll leave it up. it's unfinished and without a name. so bleh.

unfinished lyrics:

there was a tiny place that i called home that stuck beside me when i was broken.

i watched my blind side quite intently with the thought that maybe i would see.

all of that time i was exporting secrets to your warehouse on a black-sanded beach.

all of that time i couldn't really breathe.

i took shots of foul language and gin. all of my values were interchanging

and the books filled with lines i would quote for the rest of my life

made me feel so little and temporary like the grudges that people carry

and if the authors were alive, they'd feel the same.

i am a scar. i am a phone number. i am the 24-hour slumber.

i am the rush of the children to play.

while you're stuck in your own head thinking of moments you'll come to regret

splicing incongruent thoughts, downing those immoral, encouraging shots.

like ocean waves in sync, we're always jumping before we think.

hysteria's playing a part in these atrocities.

i've found that most reparations can be ignored with enough medication

we're thinking deeply but not deep enough to fall

down into a disfigured depression that would require some psychological sessions.

i'll probably never learn to play the guitar or put anything to music. i used to take piano lessons, but it was a royal pain in my butt. i wasn't dedicated, excited, or passionate enough. kicking myself for that now. i'd rather play guitar...oh well. maybe i'll get around to it eventually.

my first blog.

for starters: so...this is my first blog. my guess is that no one will read it. i mean, it's pretty lame. "my first blog." damn. i sound like i'm talking to someone - anyone. but i'm not. it's just me and myself here. actually, it's me and whomever wants to visit.

who's visiting: the last text i got was, "i did a lot." it was my friend telling me that he liked my idea about asking a girl out to winter formal. (isn't it kind of annoying how people used to actually talk and now all anyone ever does is text? it's so impersonal. although i guess writing about nothing to no one is just as impersonal as that, so i'll end it there.) to be honest, it was a pretty lame idea. i just suggested that he send her flowers in the morning with a note asking her to go. i guess it's not lame. i mean, if a guy did that for me, i'd be pretty damn happy. not lame, just unoriginal. but i guess something doesn't have to be original in order for it to be genuine. things don't have to be original to mean something.

what i'm avoiding: work. language exercises. thinking about people and why people do what they do.

what i want: at the moment, sleep. i want to sleep and to get this year over with (although i'm pretty sure i've got a few hundred days to go) and maybe wake up in a few years. but what pessimistic teenager doesn't? personally, i know that i complain too much. maybe not to other people, but in my head. and maybe i do complain to other people. maybe all i'm doing right now is complaining to the universe, stretching out my new arms that technology has given me, and silently begging that someone listen. maybe.