Matching the waves of what was once done a different way
Protecting the product of a dream that was left to rot
Sometimes I know there must be another day
Something so honed by the absence of selflessness
Surreal in the flesh but left so out of place
And I know this is no what that a human behaves
But still I must move on keep my eyes on the ground
Being pushed like a pawn. What have my thoughts come to?
Thursday
Þú munt ekki andlit mig svo ég mun ekki andlit þér.
To whom it may concern,
Let's just lay it out there: I'm sick of you. I've spent the last three years wishing, wishing that we could be together. According to you, as of late, it could have worked out once. Thanks for telling me now when it matters. I've sat on my couch with you for hours and hours talking about our lives, talking about what fucked up things happen to us. This should cascade into passionate sex or making out, but it ends with a subtle "goodbye" as you grab your coat and leave at 11:30. Why's this? Because you're just my best friend. My best fucking friend. Right? Is this just another blog about the friend zone?
Sure, perhaps it is. But I like to think that there is more to this.
I don't know why I stuck around this long. I've tried to break it apart a few times now but just can't. Apparently we've decided that we need each other or something. "We were made for each other." Did you know you even said that? Did you? So what's that supposed to do to a guy that has professed his love for you? Seriously. I want this little flower to die. I want the sun to burn out and for a husky Filipino landscaper to step on that fucking flower and for it to decompose into bad soil that nothing will ever grow in again. We're concentrated on falling apart. We were contenders, we're just throwing the fight. I just want to believe in us.
No, fuck you Jesse Lacey. I've given up on that and you're partially responsible for why I'm here right now.
I think I've figured you out. Cynicism may play a roll in it, but I think I've gotten to the bottom of your "tortured soul." I get it, your life sucks. You've spent so many nights and texts telling me that that I think I should know by now. Bur really, what the fuck do you have to worry about? You're rich, indescribably gorgeous, you're dating the guy that so many other girls would die for, you get good grades, you have everything going for you. Maybe that's just it. This little persona you want to put on. You want everyone to think that you hate everyone. That you're depressed and independent and just don't give a fuck. But really, inside, you're just screaming to be the greatest. That's why you dress up so pretty every day. That's why you date one of he biggest studs at AHS. Because you want to be cool without being cool. What the fuck does that even mean?
I get that analyzing people is bad and never really gets to the bottom of anything, but I really thought I could figure you out, but I just can't. Everything I said above is completely wrong.
I don't get why you need me so much. All I've ever done was listen and watch bad indie movies and show new Brand New songs to you. Don't you have girl friends for that? Ones that aren't in love with you? Ones that aren't torn into pieces every time they have to see you with that guy?
Is that what this is about?
Yeah, I think so. Maybe I'm selfish, yeah, I probably am, but why have I been wasting so much time with a girl that has none of the same feelings as me? Fuck me, I've lingered with you for so long. When I like girls, I still like you more. There is something so so so wrong with that. I'm a decent looking guy. I could have just gotten over you and found another decent girl to spend some time with. But no. There's something unspecial that makes you so special. I want to hate you, because I should, but I can't. I can't hate you at all because you're so god damn perfect for me. Everything I've ever seen in you is what I've always wanted in a girl. I hate perfection. I like fucking flaws. I like neurotic girls that are incredibly OCD and hate everyone and used to hurt themselves and what to fuck Jesse Lacey and who like Shakespeare. I don't know why. I really, really don't. All of those things are so incredibly unattractive. But here's the thing: they're real. The thing I can't comprehend is why you would waste your time with someone so incredibly fake.
You told me you can't live without me. You told me I'm the only one who understands you. You told me everything about you. I've told you everything about me. I told you I need you in my life.
This is me cutting you out of my life.
If you need someone to talk to, talk to your fucking boyfriend. That's what he's there for. If you need someone to talk about music with, find some other loser who likes Brand New and Jack's Mannequin and La Dispute and whatever else I've thrown at you to talk to. Either that, or drop your loser ass boyfriend. Because as so so so fucking depressing as it is, I'll always be here. It's me or the jock. That's my last ultimatum.
I can finally say I hate you. I may pause for a second and read it over a few times just to make sure I mean it. But I'm pretty sure I do. I've gone four days without talking to you. I've gone four days without looking at you. But I have not gone a day without thinking about you. And that won't change. You're always there. There's just some things you can't bleed out.
Try and figure out what spawned this all. I bet you won't. In the mean time, I'm still waiting for you to text me asking what's wrong, and I'm waiting to delete that text without replying. Now go clean up your yard. Someone made you miserable by vandalizing your house. May god bless their souls.
You are colder than oldness could ever be. And you are bolder than buzzing bugs.
Yours fucking truly,
ae
--
I say "fuck" 13 times in this entry.
Let's just lay it out there: I'm sick of you. I've spent the last three years wishing, wishing that we could be together. According to you, as of late, it could have worked out once. Thanks for telling me now when it matters. I've sat on my couch with you for hours and hours talking about our lives, talking about what fucked up things happen to us. This should cascade into passionate sex or making out, but it ends with a subtle "goodbye" as you grab your coat and leave at 11:30. Why's this? Because you're just my best friend. My best fucking friend. Right? Is this just another blog about the friend zone?
Sure, perhaps it is. But I like to think that there is more to this.
I don't know why I stuck around this long. I've tried to break it apart a few times now but just can't. Apparently we've decided that we need each other or something. "We were made for each other." Did you know you even said that? Did you? So what's that supposed to do to a guy that has professed his love for you? Seriously. I want this little flower to die. I want the sun to burn out and for a husky Filipino landscaper to step on that fucking flower and for it to decompose into bad soil that nothing will ever grow in again. We're concentrated on falling apart. We were contenders, we're just throwing the fight. I just want to believe in us.
No, fuck you Jesse Lacey. I've given up on that and you're partially responsible for why I'm here right now.
I think I've figured you out. Cynicism may play a roll in it, but I think I've gotten to the bottom of your "tortured soul." I get it, your life sucks. You've spent so many nights and texts telling me that that I think I should know by now. Bur really, what the fuck do you have to worry about? You're rich, indescribably gorgeous, you're dating the guy that so many other girls would die for, you get good grades, you have everything going for you. Maybe that's just it. This little persona you want to put on. You want everyone to think that you hate everyone. That you're depressed and independent and just don't give a fuck. But really, inside, you're just screaming to be the greatest. That's why you dress up so pretty every day. That's why you date one of he biggest studs at AHS. Because you want to be cool without being cool. What the fuck does that even mean?
I get that analyzing people is bad and never really gets to the bottom of anything, but I really thought I could figure you out, but I just can't. Everything I said above is completely wrong.
I don't get why you need me so much. All I've ever done was listen and watch bad indie movies and show new Brand New songs to you. Don't you have girl friends for that? Ones that aren't in love with you? Ones that aren't torn into pieces every time they have to see you with that guy?
Is that what this is about?
Yeah, I think so. Maybe I'm selfish, yeah, I probably am, but why have I been wasting so much time with a girl that has none of the same feelings as me? Fuck me, I've lingered with you for so long. When I like girls, I still like you more. There is something so so so wrong with that. I'm a decent looking guy. I could have just gotten over you and found another decent girl to spend some time with. But no. There's something unspecial that makes you so special. I want to hate you, because I should, but I can't. I can't hate you at all because you're so god damn perfect for me. Everything I've ever seen in you is what I've always wanted in a girl. I hate perfection. I like fucking flaws. I like neurotic girls that are incredibly OCD and hate everyone and used to hurt themselves and what to fuck Jesse Lacey and who like Shakespeare. I don't know why. I really, really don't. All of those things are so incredibly unattractive. But here's the thing: they're real. The thing I can't comprehend is why you would waste your time with someone so incredibly fake.
You told me you can't live without me. You told me I'm the only one who understands you. You told me everything about you. I've told you everything about me. I told you I need you in my life.
This is me cutting you out of my life.
If you need someone to talk to, talk to your fucking boyfriend. That's what he's there for. If you need someone to talk about music with, find some other loser who likes Brand New and Jack's Mannequin and La Dispute and whatever else I've thrown at you to talk to. Either that, or drop your loser ass boyfriend. Because as so so so fucking depressing as it is, I'll always be here. It's me or the jock. That's my last ultimatum.
I can finally say I hate you. I may pause for a second and read it over a few times just to make sure I mean it. But I'm pretty sure I do. I've gone four days without talking to you. I've gone four days without looking at you. But I have not gone a day without thinking about you. And that won't change. You're always there. There's just some things you can't bleed out.
Try and figure out what spawned this all. I bet you won't. In the mean time, I'm still waiting for you to text me asking what's wrong, and I'm waiting to delete that text without replying. Now go clean up your yard. Someone made you miserable by vandalizing your house. May god bless their souls.
You are colder than oldness could ever be. And you are bolder than buzzing bugs.
Yours fucking truly,
ae
--
I say "fuck" 13 times in this entry.
Wednesday
Nice to see you depression, it's only been a week or so since we had coffee last.
Assuming no one will ever read this:
So fuck life, you know? Things have been pretty shitty in the line of girls lately for me. First: I realized I am in love with my best friend. That is so cliche, isn't it? It's like the subplot of a movie, skinny emo kid falls in love with best friend that happens to be a beautiful, misunderstood girl. Skinny boy gets sad because he doesn't want to be in love with her. He wants to be her friend. Well, kinda. He secretly wants to be together, but he understands that she needs him as a friend more than he needs her as a girlfriend. Except no one's directing this one and skinny boy manages to find it in his heart to keep her with him as a friend. La de fucking da. Second: how things can change in less than 24 hours. So, you see all that shitty poetry/writing below? That's about this one girl I was hung up on like three months ago. She's the reason I'm in this fucking bullshit production of Pride & Prejudice at school. Think metaphorically while reading the latter writings to figure out what went on there. About a week ago, we started casually talking again. Very brief and stuff. Anyways, so Monday, girl gets call from ex-boyfriend at practice, and whatever went down was pretty upsetting. It was a pretty bug deal, with the cast being so close, I caught wind of it. So, after I get home from practice, I text her. I had been thinking about her a lot. A lotttttt. Like, a lot. Enough said. I basically tell her that I want to be friends again. I actually meant I wanted to go back to where we were before our fallout, but she took that as "friends." Less than a minute after texting her, she calls me. Crying. Apparently, she had been on the phone with ex in the parking lot for like an hour, and after she got my text, she felt obligated to make amends with all the boys in her life. I was genuine and nice about it.
That's because I didn't want to hear it.
So, things were good Tuesday at practice. We talked friendly, and things seemed good. You know, like they always do. After practice, as I'm leaving, she catches me alone. There she formally and in person restates what she said on the phone, and apologizes for calling me in that state.
"Yeah yeah yeah, it's fine, don't worry about it."
Things are cool until about two hours ago.
So, me and one of my best friends on earth, also in the play, also good friends with girl, are talking about everything regarding this. I ask him what ex said on the phone to her that fucked with her head so much. He tells me that he asked if she liked this other boy, and she said kinda and he freaked out and blah blah blah blah fucking blah.
Wait, hold up.
Let me tell you a little about girl and boys.
So, girl's perfect and nice and pretty and smart and yeah. That means a lot of losers are going to fall for her. Hardy har, I was one of them. I'll get back to that. So, things started between us when we go to the school's formal dance. Here's the thing, she turned down best guy friend 1 and best guy friend 2 for me. 1 and 2 hate me for stealing their royal queen, yeah. I criticize how they waste their whole fucking high school career on one girl that only wants to draw robots and watch Arrested Development with them. Things are good, things are bad, I write bad poetry, I make a band and write songs about her, Pride & Prejudice, yeah, now we're back where we left off.
Remember when I was talking about her liking this boy that caused ex to freak at her? Hello, I'd like you to meet Best Guy Friend 2.
We ran together, he likes neon and robots and Mason Jennings and whatever. He was supposed to be the lovesick loser that gets fucked over when her and I get together and be all happy and bullshit. My best friend whose friends with #1 and girl tells me that they're trying to see how things go.
This makes me realize something:
I can't be friends with Anna.
I can't not have feelings for Anna.
I've only felt things for two girls in my life, and both of them ripped my heart out in the last 10 days.
The thing is, I'm not so much sad that I can't be with them. I'm sad that I can't get over my feelings. I wish I could go to parties and hook up with shallow drunk girls and do that again and again and again. But I can't control my emotional connection to these girls. I fucking can't.
I want David to rot in hell. I want him to die. Or go to Princeton or something. I want to be with Anna. I want to be with her like we should be.
But something about he can't make a move.
I stand frozen, watching myself melt.
I want to carve in my chest "DONT LOVE: IT ONLY MAKES YOU CARVE SHIT IN YOUR CHEST." But I have hope in finding hope. Fucked up, isn't it? The fact that I know I'll never love. I'll be a pathetic lovesick shitty musician living with my parents my whole life. Fuck "Alec, you're only 17." No. My life is [500] Days Of Summer. My life is pathetic.
My life is like this because it is swayed by love. Love makes me hurt myself, love makes me hurt others.
But, it still comes back. And I don't even know it.
The fact that I wrote this blog should tell you I'm depressed. I hope things will work out, but they won't. I should go drink a lot of hard liquor. I should go smoke a few cigarettes. I don't know. I should be more brave and let myself take falls.
I should do a lot of things.
See ya blog. I hate you.
-ae
--
I say "fuck" 10 times in this entry.
So fuck life, you know? Things have been pretty shitty in the line of girls lately for me. First: I realized I am in love with my best friend. That is so cliche, isn't it? It's like the subplot of a movie, skinny emo kid falls in love with best friend that happens to be a beautiful, misunderstood girl. Skinny boy gets sad because he doesn't want to be in love with her. He wants to be her friend. Well, kinda. He secretly wants to be together, but he understands that she needs him as a friend more than he needs her as a girlfriend. Except no one's directing this one and skinny boy manages to find it in his heart to keep her with him as a friend. La de fucking da. Second: how things can change in less than 24 hours. So, you see all that shitty poetry/writing below? That's about this one girl I was hung up on like three months ago. She's the reason I'm in this fucking bullshit production of Pride & Prejudice at school. Think metaphorically while reading the latter writings to figure out what went on there. About a week ago, we started casually talking again. Very brief and stuff. Anyways, so Monday, girl gets call from ex-boyfriend at practice, and whatever went down was pretty upsetting. It was a pretty bug deal, with the cast being so close, I caught wind of it. So, after I get home from practice, I text her. I had been thinking about her a lot. A lotttttt. Like, a lot. Enough said. I basically tell her that I want to be friends again. I actually meant I wanted to go back to where we were before our fallout, but she took that as "friends." Less than a minute after texting her, she calls me. Crying. Apparently, she had been on the phone with ex in the parking lot for like an hour, and after she got my text, she felt obligated to make amends with all the boys in her life. I was genuine and nice about it.
That's because I didn't want to hear it.
So, things were good Tuesday at practice. We talked friendly, and things seemed good. You know, like they always do. After practice, as I'm leaving, she catches me alone. There she formally and in person restates what she said on the phone, and apologizes for calling me in that state.
"Yeah yeah yeah, it's fine, don't worry about it."
Things are cool until about two hours ago.
So, me and one of my best friends on earth, also in the play, also good friends with girl, are talking about everything regarding this. I ask him what ex said on the phone to her that fucked with her head so much. He tells me that he asked if she liked this other boy, and she said kinda and he freaked out and blah blah blah blah fucking blah.
Wait, hold up.
Let me tell you a little about girl and boys.
So, girl's perfect and nice and pretty and smart and yeah. That means a lot of losers are going to fall for her. Hardy har, I was one of them. I'll get back to that. So, things started between us when we go to the school's formal dance. Here's the thing, she turned down best guy friend 1 and best guy friend 2 for me. 1 and 2 hate me for stealing their royal queen, yeah. I criticize how they waste their whole fucking high school career on one girl that only wants to draw robots and watch Arrested Development with them. Things are good, things are bad, I write bad poetry, I make a band and write songs about her, Pride & Prejudice, yeah, now we're back where we left off.
Remember when I was talking about her liking this boy that caused ex to freak at her? Hello, I'd like you to meet Best Guy Friend 2.
We ran together, he likes neon and robots and Mason Jennings and whatever. He was supposed to be the lovesick loser that gets fucked over when her and I get together and be all happy and bullshit. My best friend whose friends with #1 and girl tells me that they're trying to see how things go.
This makes me realize something:
I can't be friends with Anna.
I can't not have feelings for Anna.
I've only felt things for two girls in my life, and both of them ripped my heart out in the last 10 days.
The thing is, I'm not so much sad that I can't be with them. I'm sad that I can't get over my feelings. I wish I could go to parties and hook up with shallow drunk girls and do that again and again and again. But I can't control my emotional connection to these girls. I fucking can't.
I want David to rot in hell. I want him to die. Or go to Princeton or something. I want to be with Anna. I want to be with her like we should be.
But something about he can't make a move.
I stand frozen, watching myself melt.
I want to carve in my chest "DONT LOVE: IT ONLY MAKES YOU CARVE SHIT IN YOUR CHEST." But I have hope in finding hope. Fucked up, isn't it? The fact that I know I'll never love. I'll be a pathetic lovesick shitty musician living with my parents my whole life. Fuck "Alec, you're only 17." No. My life is [500] Days Of Summer. My life is pathetic.
My life is like this because it is swayed by love. Love makes me hurt myself, love makes me hurt others.
But, it still comes back. And I don't even know it.
The fact that I wrote this blog should tell you I'm depressed. I hope things will work out, but they won't. I should go drink a lot of hard liquor. I should go smoke a few cigarettes. I don't know. I should be more brave and let myself take falls.
I should do a lot of things.
See ya blog. I hate you.
-ae
--
I say "fuck" 10 times in this entry.
Tuesday
The Love of Robots
Well, at least she was honest with me.
I wrote this certain poem for a certain someone a while ago when I thought things were alright. Apparently, that was all in my head. It seems like a lot is in my head.
It's really funny looking back at how I felt and how disproportional it is to how I feel now. At least I get to drop out of the play. There's no use in that anymore.
Well, those pills are in the bathroom drawer somewhere. Better go find them.
-
I wove this canvas. I crushed these berries to make paint. The wounds won't scar from when I picked the thorn bush for them. It was only a scrape at the time. Now it's infected and spreading.
The image is in my head. Everyone's encouraging me to bring it to life. They know what it will look like. It this is no abstract painting. They're waiting. I'm waitng.
I've sat in front of this spread for two months. The background is grey and neutral. It still lacks the primary colors.
I never learned to paint them. I don't like figuring things out on my own.
But I want it to be perfect. I won't settle for anything less.
I guess when you leave something for too long, eventually it rots.
-
ae
I wrote this certain poem for a certain someone a while ago when I thought things were alright. Apparently, that was all in my head. It seems like a lot is in my head.
It's really funny looking back at how I felt and how disproportional it is to how I feel now. At least I get to drop out of the play. There's no use in that anymore.
Well, those pills are in the bathroom drawer somewhere. Better go find them.
-
I wove this canvas. I crushed these berries to make paint. The wounds won't scar from when I picked the thorn bush for them. It was only a scrape at the time. Now it's infected and spreading.
The image is in my head. Everyone's encouraging me to bring it to life. They know what it will look like. It this is no abstract painting. They're waiting. I'm waitng.
I've sat in front of this spread for two months. The background is grey and neutral. It still lacks the primary colors.
I never learned to paint them. I don't like figuring things out on my own.
But I want it to be perfect. I won't settle for anything less.
I guess when you leave something for too long, eventually it rots.
-
ae
Wednesday
new poem, shot at unconventional poetry
i've never read ee cummings, but this kind of how i imagine his stuff would look like.
Blogspot does a terrible job of aligning this. read it here, and open it under WordPad or NotePad so it will be properly aligned
ae
Blogspot does a terrible job of aligning this. read it here, and open it under WordPad or NotePad so it will be properly aligned
ae
Tuesday
my sad little journal/blog/friend who listens.
she plays with my eyes from a distance. running, running around. keeping my attention. dressed brightly with the sun lighting up her smile and her eyes in that unmistakable way.
it was only a phase.
-
i constructed this canvas. i found the colors to make these paints. the image is in my head. everyone's been encouraging me to bring it to life. they have a good idea as well of what it will look like. it's so perfect. put it up for the world to see. they're waiting. you're waiting.
i've been standing in front of this spread for three months. i outlined the background and created the structure, but i can't bring myself to fill it in with the primary colors.
but i wanna. i fucking wanna.
i just cant figure out what technique to paint this portrait with. i want it to be perfect. and i won't settle for anything less.
i guess when you leave something for too long, eventually it rots.
-
i'm feeling pushed aside. pushed aside by another artist whose going to finish this painting. pushed aside by their four point oh and their metaphoric catch phrases and their cool uncool flannels.
blow me, i did that first.
it sucks to be pushed aside by someone you admire so much. since day one and since the velvet underground and nico came up.
go to the fucking east coast with your pretentiousness. you and all your fucking friends. i'm fucking sick of looking at you and fucking sick of think about you.
-
purple is a great color. apparently it's my power color.
you always recognize me approaching you when you catch glimpse of my purple circas when you're getting your books. apparently purple reminds you of me.
want to know what purple reminds me of?
it reminds me of what you wore that night. and how happy i was that night and how happy you were that night. and that that regret i felt from when i walked through the door until i passed out in someones basement. and that slightly confused and slightly discouraged feeling you felt that split second before you went back to your friends.
thats how i hope you felt.
-
thank god it's you has to act and not me. with you around, i'm already acting. not good enough to get an oscar, obviously. this time i get to stand around and look pretty and you get to do the acting. oh, and that east coast esque artists gets to show me how bad i am.
it's funny how metaphoric my life and the high school drama department really are.
-
and there's no blame for how your love did slowly fade
and now it's gone, it's like it wasnt there at all
and here i rest where disappointment and regret collide
lying awake at night
-ben gibbard
-
i wish i could make words like i made riffs and i wish i could make riffs the way i make words. and i wish i could show you this. and i wish that i wasnt compulsive and i wish that i wasnt wrong. and i wish that i was ben gibbard on days like this. and i wish that i didn't feel the need to write all of this.
-
i'm running out of things to say.
may i correct myself: i'm running out of things to bitch about.
-
some old lady's singing. over that, some sad young man plays a bittersweet guitar arrangment. the skips and scratches of the vinyl soothingly proceeds as the bass progresses. a calm vocal expression of emotion recites.
he blinks, and his tears hit the floor.
loudly.
that sad riff keeps playing, and still he moves on.
this is not mine.
this is the moment.
i am the angry sun.
-
play practice is going to kill me tonight.
-
it was only a phase.
-
i constructed this canvas. i found the colors to make these paints. the image is in my head. everyone's been encouraging me to bring it to life. they have a good idea as well of what it will look like. it's so perfect. put it up for the world to see. they're waiting. you're waiting.
i've been standing in front of this spread for three months. i outlined the background and created the structure, but i can't bring myself to fill it in with the primary colors.
but i wanna. i fucking wanna.
i just cant figure out what technique to paint this portrait with. i want it to be perfect. and i won't settle for anything less.
i guess when you leave something for too long, eventually it rots.
-
i'm feeling pushed aside. pushed aside by another artist whose going to finish this painting. pushed aside by their four point oh and their metaphoric catch phrases and their cool uncool flannels.
blow me, i did that first.
it sucks to be pushed aside by someone you admire so much. since day one and since the velvet underground and nico came up.
go to the fucking east coast with your pretentiousness. you and all your fucking friends. i'm fucking sick of looking at you and fucking sick of think about you.
-
purple is a great color. apparently it's my power color.
you always recognize me approaching you when you catch glimpse of my purple circas when you're getting your books. apparently purple reminds you of me.
want to know what purple reminds me of?
it reminds me of what you wore that night. and how happy i was that night and how happy you were that night. and that that regret i felt from when i walked through the door until i passed out in someones basement. and that slightly confused and slightly discouraged feeling you felt that split second before you went back to your friends.
thats how i hope you felt.
-
thank god it's you has to act and not me. with you around, i'm already acting. not good enough to get an oscar, obviously. this time i get to stand around and look pretty and you get to do the acting. oh, and that east coast esque artists gets to show me how bad i am.
it's funny how metaphoric my life and the high school drama department really are.
-
and there's no blame for how your love did slowly fade
and now it's gone, it's like it wasnt there at all
and here i rest where disappointment and regret collide
lying awake at night
-ben gibbard
-
i wish i could make words like i made riffs and i wish i could make riffs the way i make words. and i wish i could show you this. and i wish that i wasnt compulsive and i wish that i wasnt wrong. and i wish that i was ben gibbard on days like this. and i wish that i didn't feel the need to write all of this.
-
i'm running out of things to say.
may i correct myself: i'm running out of things to bitch about.
-
some old lady's singing. over that, some sad young man plays a bittersweet guitar arrangment. the skips and scratches of the vinyl soothingly proceeds as the bass progresses. a calm vocal expression of emotion recites.
he blinks, and his tears hit the floor.
loudly.
that sad riff keeps playing, and still he moves on.
this is not mine.
this is the moment.
i am the angry sun.
-
play practice is going to kill me tonight.
-
Wavves - Wavves
Wavves is just a straight up fucking awesome band. Made up of stoner bros Nathan on guitar and Ryan on drums, these dudes made a hell of a debut album. Note: this is not their more recent and more popular album Wavvves. Besides the annoying feedback forward Intro Goth, this album hits full swing with the mighty California Goth, then rolls around to one of, if not, the best tracks of the album. The song Wavves is an awesome summertime tune, bringing us to a beach party with Wavves as the musical guests. "I wanna see the waves, no wavves no wavvves." Gotta love that. My personal favorite track is the less-known Vermin. This sad, Sonic Youth-esque song sounds like Bon Iver doing no-fi. I'm not totally sure what he's saying, but I got "but I'll burn down the town, and I'll just leave you" out of it. This song is a downtempo, depressed, simple display of the other side of a stoned beach bum. Props Nathan and Ryan for this one.
1. Intro Goth
2. California Goth
3. Wavves
4. Lover
5. Space Raider
6. Vermin
7. Side Yr On
8. Beach Goth
9. The Boys Will Love Us
10. Spaced Raider
11. Yoked
12. Teenage Super Party
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