pomegranite;

(no subject)

"I wrote a story about you. Well, sort of, see, it's mostly about me. Well, entirely about me, but here's the catch: I'm you. No, really, I mean it. Not like that transcendentalism stuff we're learning in English class, but really, truly, I'm you. I know what it feels like when your heart beats so hard against your white bone ribs, when you sing in the shower with soap in your eyes, when you run until you get a side ache. I wrote this story about you because I am so in love with you, your broken-fence teeth and your tissue-paper scars. I love you when you're so exhausted it could topple you to the ground, so in love it could snap guitar strings, so sickly sweet it could make lips smile. This is a reckless love story. This is my shameless confession"
  • Current Music
    shins
pomegranite;

(no subject)

Time to put the earphones on..
No!
Born to, born to multiply; born to gaze into night skies, when all you want's one more Saturday.
But look here; until then, they're gonna buy your life's time. So keep your wick in the air and your feet in the fetters, to the day
you come in doing cartwheels.
We all crawl out by ourselves, and your shape on the dancefloor will have me thinking such filth and gauge my eyes; you'd be damned to be one of us, girl. Faced with a dodo's conundrum:
Ah, I felt like I could just fly;
but nothing happened every time I tried.
A dual tone under wall; Selfish fool who hoped you'd save us all
never dreamt of such sterile hands.
You keep them folded in your lap, and raise them up to beg for scraps. You know, he's holding you down with the tips of his fingers.
Just the same; but you'll be pulled from the ocean. But just a minute too late; or changed by a potion, and find a handsome young mate for you to love. You'll be damned to pining through the windowpanes, you know. You'd trade your life for any ordinary Joe. Will do, and I will grow old; your nightmares only need a year or two to unfold.
Been alone since you were twenty one, you haven't laughed since January. You try to make like this is so much fun, but we know it to be quite contrary.
Dare to be one of us, girl!
Facing the android's conundrum: Ah, I felt like I should just cry, but nothing happens every time I take one on the chin. Your humor in your cote, you don't know how long I've been: watching the lantern dim, starved of oxygen. So give me your hand,
and let's jump out the window.
  • Current Music
    shins!
PD!; yeah baby

(no subject)

You're a part time lover and a full time friend;
the monkey on your back is the latest trend. I don't see what anyone can see in anyone else but you. I kiss you on the brain in the shadow of a train; I kiss you all starry eyed, my body's swinging from side to side. I don't see what anyone can see in anyone else but you.
Here is the church and here is the steeple; we sure are cute for two ugly people. I don't see what anyone can see in anyone else but you. The pebbles forgive me, the trees forgive me, so why can't you forgive me? I don't see what anyone can see in anyone else but you.
I will find my niche in your car with my mp3 dvd rumble-packed guitar. I don't see what anyone can see in anyone else but you. Up, up, down, down, left, right, left, right, B, A, start; just because we use cheats doesn't mean we're not smart. I don't see what anyone can see in anyone else but you.
You're always trying to keep it real; I'm in love with how you feel.
I don't see what anyone can see in anyone else but you.
  • Current Music
    moldy peaches
pomegranite;

say anything

Admit it!
Despite your pesudo-bohemian appearance and vaguely leftist doctrine of beliefs, you know nothing about art or sex that you couldn't read in any trendy New York underground fashion magazine;
Prototypical non-conformist
You are a vacuous soldier of the thrift store Gestapo; you adhere to a set of standards and tastes that appear to be determined by an unseen panel of hipster judges, giving a thumbs up or thumbs down to incoming and outgoing styles of music and art.
Go analog, baby; you're so post-modern.
You're diving face forward into an antiquated past. It's disgusting, it's offensive.
Don't stick your nose up at me.
You spend your time sitting in circles with your friends, pontificating each other, forever competing for that one moment of self-aggrandizing glory in which you hog the intellectual spotlight, holding dominion over the entire shallow, pointless conversation.
Oh, we're not worthy!
When you walk by a group of, quote-unquote, "normal people," you chuckle to yourself, patting yourself on the back as you scoff.
It's the same superiority complex shared by the high school jocks who made your life a living hell, and makes you a slave to the competitive capitalist dogma you spend every moment of your waking life bitching about.
Well, let me tell you this;
I am shamelessly self involved. I spend hours in front of the mirror making my hair elegantly disheveled.
I worry about how this album will sell, because I believe it will determine the amount of sex I will have in the future.
I self medicate with drugs and alcohol to treat my extreme social anxiety.
You're a faker, you're a fraud. You're living a lie, living a lie, your life is living a lie.
You don't impress me, you don't intimidate me; why don't you bow down, get on the ground, walk this fucking plank?
Yeah, what do you have to say for yourself?
  • Current Music
    sublime
pomegranite;

(no subject)

She will kiss you till your lip bleeds, but she will not take her dress off.
Americano; Tropicano
All the sailor boys have demons;
they sing, "Oh, Kentucky! Why did you foresake me? If I was meant to sail the sea, why did you make me? Should've been with the state, oh state.."
'Cause Mary Anne's a bitch, Mary Anne's a bitch.
Mary Anne's a bitch
Does it matter that our anchors couldn't even reach the bottom of a bathtub?
All the sails reflect the moon;
it's such a strange job, playing black jack on the deck. Still, I taught this giant bottle dressed in white.
We quietly huddle with our missiles and we miss the girls back home, oh home sweet home..
'Cause Mary Anne's a bitch, Mary Anne's a bitch.
Mary Anne's a bitch
She will kiss you till your lip bleeds, but she will not take her dress off.
Americano; Tropicano
  • Current Music
    Regina!
pomegranite;

makes you feel in the most profound way imaginable

This has got to die
I said, this has got to stop.
This has got to lie down with someone else on top.
Well, you can keep me pinned, it's easier to tease.
But you can't paint an elephant
quite as good as she.
And she may cry like a baby, and she may drive me crazy
'Cause I am lately lonely.
So why'd you have to lie?
I take it I'm your crutch;
the pillow in your pillow case is easier to touch.
And when you think you've sinned, do you fall upon your knees?
Or do you sit within your picture?
Do you still forget the breeze?
And she may rise, if I sing you down.
And she may wisely cling to the ground.
'Cause I am lately horny
So why would she take me horny?
What's the point of this song?
Or even singing?
You've already gone, why am I clinging?
Well, I could throw it out,
and I could live without.
And I could do it all for you;
I could be strong.
Tell me if you want me to lie,
'cause this has got to die.
I said, this has got to stop.
This has got to lie down, down
with someone else on top.
You can both keep me pinned, 'cause it's easier to tease.
Well, you can't make me happy
quite as good as me;
Well, you know that's a lie.


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  • Current Music
    damien
pomegranite;

(no subject)

Squeaky swings and tall grass;
the longest shadows ever cast
The water's warm, and children swim, and we frolicked about in our summer skin.
I don't recall a single care, just greenery and humid air.
Then Labor Day came and went,
and we shed what was left of our summer skin.
On the night you left I came over and we peeled the freckles from our shoulders.
Our brand new coats, so flushed and pink; and I knew your heart I couldn't win.
'Cause the seasons change was a conduit,
and we'd left our love in our summer skin.
  • Current Music
    office