Should I hang with my friend who I haven't seen in a year or go meet this tinder girl?
Someone New - Hozier

I just can't put my finger on it.
something about her is goregous.
Baby Got Back - Jonathon Coulton

You're right. It's totally her ***.
Ugly Faces - Watsky

Shh, spotify, be nice. It's not her fault.
Do Better - Say Anything

Okay okay, you're right. I'll bring her home.
All Time Low - Jon Bellion

Oh c'mon, She's not that bad...
Proove Me Wrong - Dub FX

Well like... her personality is pretty cute.
Some Girls Are Crazy - Echo Movement

I can't beleive I just had *** in my backseat.
Glad You Came - The Wanted

Yikes. All the girls dropped from this party. it's just gonna be me and my three dude friends.
To Many ***** On The Dancefloor - Flight Of The Concords

I completely agree. Should i go or just come up with a ****** excuse to leave?
You Don't Have To Be A ******* - Flight Of The Concords

You're right i'll leave. What should i tell them?
Working - I Fight Dragons

No i already told them i got the day off. That wouldn't work.
My Buddy's Back - Big D and The Kids Table

Oh perfect!
Sleepyhead - Passion Pit

Yeah I should go to bed.
Let me finish this poem first.
Go To Bed - Ookla The Mok

I'm stuck on this line.
What's a good word to describe Port Veritas? Like... one word?
Home - Phillip Phillips.

That's adorable... you're so right.
See You Again - Wiz Kahlifa

******* spotify that was super uncalled for. Now i'm bummed out.
Get Over It - Ok Go

Dude. That's like super insensitive
Ungrateful - Streetlight Manifesto

No i'm not ungrateful. I love you, you just don't need to make me cry when i'm down in the dumps like that.
Lean Into The Fall - Mona

I guess you're right. Fine. Thank you.
All The Stars In Texas - Ludo

That's the nicest thing that anyones ever said to me. I like when you do that.
Like or Like Like - Miniature Tigers

Uhh, i guess like like. You're pretty much my favorite app.
R U Mine? - Arctic Monleys.

I think maybe you're moving a little fast spotify... i don't think I'm ready for that kind of commitment.
I Wanna Be Yours - Arctic Monkeys

This is getting weird. I'm going to bed.
I Will Follow You Into The Dark - Death Cab For Cutie

Okay no, seriously i'm turning you off.
*Don't Unplug Me - All Caps.

Collaborate on a spotify playlist that will play on shuffle in my casket after I go.
I want you to add songs you want me to feel the radio signals of.
We know we feel music with a fifth sense,
A full body ASMR tingle
Whispers of russian woman fixing our robot parts.
Well I can't hear you, speak, move or eat
But bones vibrate to soundwaves just the same.
Give my casket the best **** bass you can find.
Bass that will wake the dead.
Rattle me like an instrument the way you plucked strigs while we were alive
You have control over what i hear after I go
So you may play me music beautiful as we played in the space between our fingertips

Play spotify in my casket
Only you and those i trust have access to adding songs.

But don't add garbage music.
Because I swear, I will haunt you.

I’ve always loved music. As a little girl, I could spend hours going through peoples CD collections, sampling them with my little battery-operated CD player. If you showed me a stack, rack or box of CDs, I was in heaven.

When I was 8 (2011), I got my first iPod for Christmas, an iPod Touch with 32GB of memory! The sticker said it was from Santa, but ‘Step’ got a package in the mail from Apple three weeks earlier, so I knew who it was really from. Upon opening it, I rushed upstairs to my older brother’s computer, plugged it in, carefully copied the username and password for the family iTunes account (from a wrinkled post-it note), and the world was never the same.

It never occurred to me that my parents could see all of my playlists and that they were automatically downloaded to their devices - like my break-up playlist, inspired by Antoine, my French-boy fifth grade crush. It didn’t work out because he didn’t have an email account and our recess times didn’t line up, but my playlist helped me through it.

I could burn playlists to CDs and exchange them with friends - or gift them to middle school boys who I hoped to amaze with my awesome musical tastes. There’s an art to the playlist that involves controlling pace and mood - every playlist was both a gift and a seduction.

Today we have Spotify with its unlimited streaming of every song ever made - on demand. Exchanging playlists, these days, is as easy as pressing "Share" and typing the first few letters of a friend’s or lover's username.

Like most of my girlfriends, I consider myself a playlist queen and as I continue to work this career path I’ve chosen, regardless of what's weighing me down, I know I can turn to my playlists to push me through. The band ‘The Narcissist Cookbook ’ assures me that my shocking honesty is fun with ‘Broken People.’ ‘K. Flay’ allows me to dance-out my rage with ‘Blood in the cut’ and ‘New Move’ motivates me to keep-at-it with ‘When did we stop.’

I’ve countless Spotify playlists: one for waking up, one for writing papers, one for doing problem sets, others for walking to class, doing the laundry, for nostalgic reflection, and for embracing the astounding depth of human pain.

Of course, as time passes, I find new favorite songs and older playlists are replaced with updated ones; but thanks to the archival nature of Spotify playlist collections, all my old lists remain intact. I’ve never deleted one. Search my archives and you’d see playlists from my freshie year, when I was new here, feeling insecure and alone, or from my sophomore year when I first fell in love.

This piece is a playlist love story, about how music reflects our identities and allows us to share ourselves through the vibes, melodies and beats that move us. I think playlists have a lot in common with poetry, which uses words, phrases, metaphors and imagery for similar purposes.

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com  
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                                   My Songs are off Spotify

I’m going to take my songs off Spotify
Not that I know what Spotify might be
Or that I have any songs to take away
Only that it seems to be a thing these days

I want to be censured by Republicans
Not that Republicans know what they might be
Or that they ever notice me at all
Only that it seems to be a thing these days

I want to think today and pray for you -
Now those are exactly the things to do!

I Blink 182 times,
Can I Handle This
This is the Sum of 41 reasons I won't smile this holiday
I'm feeling like I may Fall Out, Boy do I hate thinking about who's buying your presents this year.
It's weird how this holiday season is always a new All Time Low
**** this place. I would much rather Walk The Moon fixin for something that warms my heart again. So I hold it in my hands and breathe.
And I Imagine Dragons breathing fire onto my skin, maybe someone will call me hot.
Maybe Someone will Hear Me.
I sit on my Front Porch Step Aware of the Mayday Parade that marches down my spine and I forget how to walk.
How to talk
how to breathe as I Panic! At the disco music that you seem to really like.
You are memories of a ride in a Death Cab
For Cutie I Will Follow You Into The Dark.
If I'm not already there.
And I will Parachute into Owl City and lie in your bed that is a Passion Pit.
It entramps me and keeps me hostage and I hate what your sheets feel like.
You make me think that love is Of Monsters and Men and that women don't feel that word.
You have killed me a thousand times,
Queen
of ******* over the things I have planned.
We are My Chemical Romance a toxic ******* life threatining carcinogen trying to **** me.
But this is Kinda Punkish I Guess and again I have my playlist.
That sounds like you but it saves me and doesn't **** me.
Here's a Simple Plan this holiday. Leave me the **** alone this year.

anyone can be a dritte ***** fetishist... anyone! say one word in german, and the left will deem you adequate for a fist, rather than a lip... or at least that's how speaking german words, with their compound-anti-hyphen "getting together" looks like... the French utilise diacritical marks intended as syllable incissors: but frequently utilise them, unless you're Lacan and say: transcend them... i.e. move them to the side... ensuring that a monopoly on literacy is kept... the only remnants of Saxon in Anglo-Saxon is enclosed in chemical nouns.... the rarity of actually using a hyphen, you literally over-use in everyday sprechen... talk a word of deutsche and you're 1 centimetre away from saluting and to a hymn stating a sieg heil! Germany is originally community building, English, for all it's **** antics, isn't... Germany can have the concept of a zeitgeist tomorrow... German society is as thick as *****... Germans best represent *****... i never lived there, but i have enough instruments to see it... they have a tendency to disregard the individual when the mass is threatened... the Englsih? they don't have that tendecy... they are more into einsgeist than anything else... they are the single ethnic group that cherishes iconoclasm above anything else... i spent 3 weeks in Poland: how many times did i hear the word selfie used? not once, zilch... 0. i know that English is a lingua franca of modern times, but it's so easy to speak, given the fact that so many people speak, that i feel horrid using it... i want it to remain small, the tinniest of tiny in its post-imperial structure... comedy-hysterics prone... debating the question: why are Scots in the Houses of Westminster? making adequate demands? the English will never experience a zeitgiest... they're living in one at the moment, but given the disparity of accents: they''ll never accept it... which is why, whenever i travel to Poland, i have a luxury suite in how i deciphered diacritcal marks... i can't be recognised as a foreigner... but of course the gnat questions in Essex (England) given my Germanic physiogomy... it's self-evident... but why didn't god die in Auschwitz? i believe it to be akin to Jesus having no inkling into the struggle contesting the need to build pyramids... unlike the need for what later became a misinterpretations of Conquistadors seeing the Aztec similitude of Egypt... i.e. the scaffolds... capital punishment... ******* didn't get it... now the entire continent is overrun with them asking for the some obscure demand for a Juan buying them the next round of drinks... the English will never create a zeitgeist... my fascination with the dritte ***** is simply that: to see a zeitgeist... a complete and utter obedient ethnicity... a singular testmanet of a volk... Jews i too could praise, but they're too scattered, too "english" i.e. too individualistic, too disguised... i see them re-owning Israel a bit like some fetish ***** with latex and gimp... what i want to see is the volk, from the mistakes sentenced in Versailles... i want to simply see the volk... well... no can do... i can't see it, history says... it's a natural fetish of history students... American protests don't really do it for me... there's no omni-cohesion akin to a *****-like appropriation of the leader *****... that's the closest i'll ever get with getting to see a theocracy, minus the idiosyncratic psychosis... clear geometry! lines! shapes! regiments! i'm so tempted by it that i can't but lead my narrative with it! the English will never understand this concept... they're too idiosyncratic in their approach... they all think they're unique... or as that motto in school hanged over me echoed, it hanged there in the air like a guillotine, some anonymous dictator spoke to us: you're different... just like everybody else! it was never a concern for keeping a place of origin as ostriches might... ther was always that moral "obligation" surfacing from Hong Kong and king kong... and Timbuktu... which is why i said ω = oo and a pair of ****, or a bottom... and o = +h... or a breath central yielding to an islam of yhwh... versus the need for a macron over the omicron... and indeed the umlaut above the o merely invoked the siamese cut-off of e, so a tongue-curler... but the seeing the volk! we all go mad after a while... i can't see the years according to Adoolf as something worth a romance... it has all the traits of a noumenon about it... but you know why i write this? my grandfather remembers ᛋᛋ-men kleiden im schwarz in my home-town, just before the Russian army came with their youths who preferred to sleep with the animals in equivalent of Bethlehem grottos... he remembered the ᛋᛋ-men, not as kleiden im schwarz: but as.... herrbittebonbon... or should i punctuate that: herr! bitte bonbon! some have a fancy on remembering the romance of the Warsaw Uprising of '44... my only clue into the reality of world war ii was once said by my grandfather... and they gave him sweets... so that he ran home and had to put his hands under the tap, because the sweets were so glue-like, that only water could tear them apart in order that he might clasp something else... it's sad in a way: i ahve no memorial to go to... no need to express a pride... merely fragrant my vocab with a german word or two... to indeed see: that there must have been something human in that ******* embryo at some point... something counter Versailles... i can't feel being touchy about these neurotic spreading their opinions as if their opinions are above the facts that history dictates... and personal memories, however many generations apart... but at least kept... if my grandfather remembers ᛋᛋ-men being herrbittebonbon... i can only wish to have an unlimited amount of ****... given my libido... and the complexity of modern women demanding as they demand: the restrained man, the man not willing to explore easing ******* by having *** while she's in the cyclone... oh well.... thumbs up!

well... looking at it now, i can only see left-politics
without an economic model... or what happened when
communsim was undermined: my grandfather,
a communist party member has a state pension....
so it's not like he's on a 0-hour contract...
   what's missing with the current left-leaning
politics? an economic model...
the left has no economic policy in the west...
it was been weeded out, what with the original
model asserting Marx and Dickens' Oliver Twist
tragedy... the left has absolutely no
economic model, which makes for crude politics:
   once upon a time the workers
in eastern europe celebrated workers
day... and you had absolutely
no protest: i.e. not engagement in
Hegelian dialectics...
    minus: is there really a theological
dialectic? i'm not so sure
given that atheism is populist
in motto, and anti-centrist
and giving up the individual so easily...
i don't trust it...
       so i don't really
respect it, however many intellectuals
take to the pulpit...
   i too ordain myself with a strict rigour
of "religious" akin dynamics:
i drink to excess, daily...
   well... wouldn't you:
given too many wanted you dead...
you'd start to imitate them
and take gambles at your own life,
finally! **** me! they suddenly disappear,
those same people who wanted you dead!
****! gone... blah blah and pa pa much
later...
                i still think i'm more useful
rhyming snipptes i call poetry
and necessarily not rhyme: because i don't
like orthodoxy, whether church or
poetry bound... because it just seems
too much like ping-pong after a while...
   i never knew why rhyme needed rubric, strict,
only identifiable by rhyme...
  never knew why that was the case...
i always thought: impromptu against rhyme...
                  but i'll give Islam
one thing that overpowers the rest...
the fact that "saints'" heads are on fire...
rather than encapsulated in halos...
       i see the item: halo like
the fact that left politics is needy in a care for
anything but a rebellion against an economy...
left-wing politics have no economy to support...
you can't teach people communism
     without being left out in the cold
without Marshall Plan antics of benefits
and left with an idea of Marx...
            the shadow of Hegel looms too heavily
over the attempts...
  the shadow of Hegel is too thick
and coercing... to do otherwise...
                 leftist politics is without an economy:
therefore they have to imitate
  far-right tendencies...
  they have to employ damage...
well: this is coming from someone who's grandfather
was a communist party member...
                        i can't see the left....
i can't see a purpose: an economy as a wanking
hippy commune? really? is that all?
                     smashed windows, is that all?
i always liked the fact that Islamic saints
had their heads set alight... on fire my son,
on fire...
   no halo, akin to the current leftist attempt
at dialectics: by halo i mean: membrane,
i mean: the untouchables... meaning pristine ego...
if only the Sunnis allowed the artists of Persia
to come to their calling, to ease the strain
imposed by Muhammad...
but now... well: if writing is supposedly "holy"
what will the Sunnis ever make
of the iconoclasm of words in adverts?
nothing... are we being temped with a warring spirit,
are we? aren't we?!
   who's waking up the populists?!
you really want germans on the warring path?
of course... let me tell you how *william burroughs
noted the creation of the schutzstaffel
as over-heard:
pet a kitten for month... then gauge its eyes out.
oh i have no care for a romance:
i'm seeing Paris contained in an envelope
citing the address: Hades... arise!
it's not the same Paris i remember, not the Paris
of 2004 or 2005...
       it's really a case of playing with
    an elastic band.... you pull it, stretch it...
but finally it snaps! and yes...
we'll be drinking schnapps in Libya at some point...
i'm thinking: what will ever make a man
relieve himself of using a hammer and a nail
as a carpenter, and take to a machine gun?
there must be an enzyme-point that just festers
in its ability to give momentum...
there must be... perhaps when being global merchants
leaves people too ordained to wait for death
that they start seeking it in the ***** of Mars?
   when utopia nears and merely breathes into
man's ear, and says no word, unlike a god:
that the fatality dynamo begins...
    akin to the fateful comparison of Damocles -
dangling, but at the same time: tickling... teasing...
isn't the Islamic world merely agitating?
  trying to move the Christian world from
fully engrossing the "protestant"-liberal
easy adaptation working from unearthing
the nag hammadi library?
              well... the left is without an economic
model... so it's politics is what it is:
    the original intention of Hegel:
        outlines of the philosophy of right -
what's the genesis of Marx... funny enough
the book is merely a collection of notes on lectures...
      there no thesis involved...
nothing as grand as what could stand alone
akin to the phenomenology of spirit -
they're just notes... just like i'm reading heidegger's
ponderings ii - vi... notes... half-baked scripts...
   so my post-communist inheritence...
just when inflation gripped Polish economy...
and we had the Kantian idea reaching pulpit
1000000zł, i.e. so many denials of a stable 1...
    thus the inner working of modern capitalism...
how certain things are really worth
nothing, as such: £0.000001 -
i can only guess to state, the only class of people
able to experience this counter-inflation    
in western societies are "artists"...
    or artists, in the context of a harold norse
autobiography: memoirs of a ******* angel;
i.e. getting published, giving ****...      
   it would have been easier under Stalin or ******...
at least the chance of martydom
and the holy ghost of censorship...
  at least it would have made sense then...
but the concept of counter-inflation isn't that alien...
it exists for a reason to suggest:
we really don't need so many contestants
in an x-factor show... we don't need so many
artists... counter-inflation is at work already...
   the same sort of inflation that worked its way
to ensure plumbers and carpenters, roofers
from eastern europe at the end of communism
were necessarily exported into western europe...
given the communist work ethic...
    hence the power of money, so inhuman and
akin to an elemental force that man
can contain with pocket-money as a child,
but as a man, can't contain neither forest fire
or tsunami, so too money: with the economic crisis...
money overpowers man, akin to the elements...
the same inflation in poland at work
to shift people is apparent now, but as counter-inflation...
because England can't be known as a nation
of singers... but of nurses and carpenters and
   shopkeepers, hence the counter-inflation:
when a song on Spotify is worth £0.000001 per streaming...
an immigrant plumber from eastern europe is
worth 1000000zł... or how the coordinate (0, 0)
cancels out... and we're left with what's later just
a pedantic fact stated by someone like me: a zzzzzzzz
coordinate...
            we can't control money no more than
we can control seas...
   could we ever not dream of being given enough
money to then not waste them on pointless urges
akin to a lottery win and the easy way, via no
business or syndicate?
   really? there's a reason we live in a time
that's necessarily soulless...
   i can't give it a piquant phrase (only a phrase
as germans put it, chemically, hydrocarbon spelling
akin to zeitgeist - spirit of the times,
and there's nothing holy about it...
   it just moves to the next generation,
and the next poker hand... so **** that trinity
um... person?) - it gets ***** with fashion...
   or as i see it: cannibalism of 20th century trends
as the neo-original basis of fashion in the 21st beginning...
this is the one time i'll get to coin a phrase,
i.e. pick up a penny from the street pavement...
   counter-inflation brought it about...
rather than a zeitgeist where we can share afflictions
and, perhaps succumb to empathy early on...
nein... none of that... let's see what we really see it as:
ebenegeist - or? the levelling spirit...
         ebene-    (level)... ah... even better!
   stufegeist... you hear it all the time!
                         buying a house and getting onto
the property ladder!
                                    stufegeist -
           always that tease, always that ******* carrot
and that donkey... well... that's one way to get
motivational... invert the inflation of Zimbabwe...
  ensure people stop dreaming,
   make a plumber worth £0.000001 in Zimbabwe
and £1000000 in England...
      likewise make an "artist" worth
   £0.000001 per poem / song / painting...
  and likewise make him worth £1000000
in Zimbabwe as a "good" person...
  well... by now completely mentally ill...
   but hey! it's money! look at money like you might
look at water or fire or earth... and it's not
exactly a Monday's edition of the Financial Times...
mind you: given that we're so "advanced",
and given how old the concept of money is...
   is it really not as primitive as it really is
in what it makes people do?
   oh sure, because i'm so not used to it:
i'd rather be paid with the currency of peanuts!
                but then my love for the art is greater
than my ability to buy a brand new kettle...
or a doormat... so... what's the word... m'eh?

Chainsmoking menthols,
creating clouds on parade.
Living in the dark;
frenching hurt that I've made.
There's a sadness in my comfort
and a comfort in my sadness.
***, fame, ******* down
commercialized madness.

I don't dream of pornstars
as much as I dream of clothes.
Videogames to escape it all,
carbon monoxide through my nose.
Too good for this and that;
entitlement at an all-time high.
Doing television to help me live,
or maybe to help me die.

Spotify for the masses
beating in my brain.
Youtube and pornhub
to make me feel the same
as the lost I compare to myself
and the celebs I want to be.
I want to be on edge, rich, validated;
I want to live in a fractured harmony.

It’s December, it’s foggy and rainy, but that fits. Of course, a rainy Saturday means gathering in the common room with my roommates and watching either “The Hunger Games” or “Twilight.” Leong’s never seen Twilight, believe it or not, what are they DOing in China? We were explaining that It’s ok to talk through Twilight because it’s completely senseless. Yeah, good times.

We got back from Thanksgiving break, and we had to hit it - grinding to squeeze half a semester into 18 days. It’s a cornucopia of pressure. Yes, we’ve hit the books, but we’re still us.

Here’s a question: What’s the first season in December? “Spotify wrapped” season! EVERYONE has Spotify and once a year you get a summary of your listening habits. The reports came out this week and it’s all people are talking about. Comparing their lists, artists, tastes. Those lists say a lot about someone and it’s ok to not have taste, we should normalize it.

My top artist was Taylor Swift (duh) my top song was Taylor Swift’s “Renegade,” Spotify says I listened to it 285 times but that’s biased because more than once, when writing a paper, I put that song on a loop for 6 hours. My second most listened to song was “Champagne Problems” By Taylor. That song is so Rory, Gilmore Girls coded - like Rory saying, “you're on your own.” My other top artists are TV Girl, the backseat lovers and hypo campus. Yeah, I roll big.

Taylor’s also been in the conversation because Sophie has an ex-fem-friend (a freshman) who started seeing a 45-year-old guy. Let me ask you, what does a 45-year-old man have in common with an 18-year-old girl? We have Yale friends in their early 20s who consider themselves still teenagers and children and THEY are horrified. It’s naked fracking *******. (Sorry, that one foamed over.)

The whole situation is ripped from Taylor’s 2010 masterpiece “Dear John,” which is about her dating John Mayer when she was 19 and he was 30-something. Her friends warned her, but she wouldn’t hear. Taylor Swift can be corny, and I love the corn, but she can be topical too and even though I was 7 when she released “Dear John” (2010), it’s a timeless lesson.

My work day woke to Monk,
the click of typing keys,
clock watched, Spotify playing,
random thoughts rose like bees
to freeze in these jagged lines,
then swarm in threatening flight.

Hours of data entry later,
on a stool, in a bar, a clock's
hands tock, I flick a wrist,
and slur my words concluding  
an anguished monologue,
“They call it work, you know.”

Awash at home, in the strobe of
pixelated panel light,
visions surge and dissipate
with the pulse of the night. Osip,
were you tempered to embrace
attention’s fugitive caress?

You etched memory’s texture
with candle soot for ink,
and the gulag’s blackened gaze -
I type lines by hunt and peck
humming Monk’s WELL YOU NEEDN’T,
hoping for an adequate phrase.

Copyright © 2004 Gary Brocks

I won’t take showers anymore.
I won’t take them because
sometimes, when I set my Spotify on shuffle,
your favorite song still plays
because sometimes, when the water trickles down the small of my back, it feels a lot like your fingers
sometimes, soap is not enough
sometimes, I want to peel my skin up, layer by layer, until I am certain there is nothing left that you have touched
sometimes, I wonder if you still sleep on the mattress you buried me in,
wonder if there are others who share that same coffin
I wonder who I will be when I wake up tomorrow,
study my reflection in the cold, shiny shower head
with hope that one day it will change,
that i will no longer see
this
tongue biting *****,
key- laced, clenched fists *****,
flinching at the sight of chin stubble and strong jaws,
locked knees *****,
mace and matchstick *****,
feverishly avoiding eye contact,
temperature adjusting *****,
skin scrubbing *****,
birdcage mouth,
mascara tears,
weak *****.

I won’t take showers
because sometimes
I come out feeling dirtier
than I went in
because the condensation is enough
to fog up my mirror
but isn’t enough
to fog up my memory
because sometimes
an adams apple resembles
a fist to me
because I count the tiles and remember
that I am just a
paradoxical number,
the only number greater than zero
that still has no value

I wont take showers because
I know that is what
you would want me to do
you would want me
to cover the tracks for you

and if I
set myself on fire instead,
in order to destroy
any evidence
confirming
that you once lived here,
that would be
too obvious

Spotify I love you
Thanks for all the great music

Sometimes it is hard
Life can be so lonely

At least I have my music
Anyone care to chat on Skype or AIM?
Message me and we can exchange contact info

Lol people who write poems are awesome
It's hard to be a human being sometimes
The loneliness is what is difficult for me

Just keep trying to do what is right
Show the light inside of yourself

Sometimes the world can be cruel
It's okay, just persevere

I spent the day by myself
At the gym

Not employed right now
Then I walked a bit down the street
Cried some
Held this cross necklace I have

Well
I've seen some times now
I'm almost 30

I've studied history and philosophy
Read many great minds

It's quite a thing to be a human being
Don't give up
Don't give up
On your dreams

I grew up with hate
Tried to push me down

It's love that will overcome
Love
I am the keeper
I keep the days and the times

O Debussy,
I run home from the bar
to hear the sssssound
of those sssssyllables
inciting
the ripplesssss of
fingersssss that will
ssssshudder my
sssssheltered sssssoul.
Your soul
too beautiful to write
but a *******,
I must try...

BRUCE LIKES TO **** SO YOU SHOULD BUY HIS BOOK.
AUDIBLE, AN AMAZON COMPANY.
indecipherable terms and conditions

SHUT THE **** UP SPOTIFY.
I'M TRYING TO WRITE.

Ahh.
That's better.

O Debussy,
your accents strike
me like the moon,
Clair De Lune.
Shine your genius
upon me and
light my way
forward through
the next bus ride.
I will imagine the
silver grass pastures
that inspired you,
through the ***** window
that inspires me,
with buildings.
more buildings.
still more buildings.

Wow. These cheap headphones
really corrupt Reverie...
you must have sounded
awesome live,
at the piano,
by your side....

AT SQUARE SPACE WE BELIEVE IN THE CREATIVE ABILITY OF THE INDIVIDUAL...

Then SHUT THE **** UP
and let me write.

O Debussy,
your chords set
free souls  —
caged birds that **** less.
Well souls don't **** at all,
but that isn't the point.
But seriously you...

HELLO SPOTIFY USER. WE HOPE WE ARE ANNOYING THE **** OUT OF YOU AND THAT YOUR  DAY IS AWESOME. GO PREMIUM. :)

I give up. Debussy, you're great.
I ****.

I want you.

I want to know your favorite color and your middle name.
I want to know about the people you hate and how you found out you loved women.

How do you make your sandwiches?
What foods do you like and can’t pronounce?
What places do you want to see and what words do you know but can’t explain the definition?

Can we cuddle?  
And by cuddle I don’t just mean lay on you, because trust me, I can do that without cuddling. By cuddling I mean let me hold you till you forget your problems and I finally stop talking.

I want to call you baby. I want to sit in a room, with you, listening to jazz music.

I want to feel your pulse and you feel mine,
I want to hear your heartbeat dance to the rhythm of the same songs on the corny playlist on Spotify I made that remind me of you.

The Special Playlist,
(I call it)
The Makeout Playlist,
(you do).

I want to only be about to hear our synced hearts
and the slow songs
and the weight of the world leaving our shoulders
plopping onto the floor with your worries
and the jacket I took off of you when you first came in.

I want you to tease me
because I significantly failed as a former lesbian
because I’ve never watched Orange is the New Black
or The L Word
“You’re not Lesbian certified”
You’ll tell me.

I want to speak to you
In my limited German vocabulary
and watch gay movies
and let you tease me even more
when you find out I can’t sit through *** scenes
even the really gay ones,
and ****** isn’t my thing.
It’s okay though,
Your laugh is cute.

And I want to kiss you.
I want to kiss you like
we’re those ***** *** teenagers
from Romeo and Juliet,
(but with a better ending).
I want to kiss you like
there’s nobody else in the world
And there aren’t people who hate me for liking you
And your family won’t care if you love me because
****,
I want to kiss you.

Let me buy you flowers,
and want to take you on dates.

Let me take you to McDonald’s
and order off the dollar menu because
I believe in treating my girl right
(And I get an employee discount)

let me tell you why I churches make me nervous
and how I don’t believe in God and
why I don’t like birthday parties
And how I want to have my cake and eat it too
Even though I hate cake
And prefer cupcakes,
But nothing is better than cake if that’s you.

I want you to know why I played trumpet for three years then switched to baritone,
I want to know if you’ve ever done drugs and how it felt.
What are your morals and values?
What’s your utopia?

I want to send you goodnight texts and spend hours talking about nothing
And dance offbeat with you because
neither of us could have rhythm to save our lives.
I’ll let you scream fight me when I let you win in games I would destroy you at because you get that goofy smile when you think you’ve won.

Introduce me to your family and I’ll show you mine.
Let me see your baby photos and we can see foreign movies on Netflix.
Let’s go out for coffee and ask deep questions.


I don’t care, okay?
I just want you.

So it is my birthday today
Though this day i feel no different than normal
Perhaps a little sad
As yesterday i had a bit of a conflict
But I won't let this person have control over my birthday
Today is supposed to be special
Though most things have gone wrong
I forgot my coffee this morning
And Spotify gave me the worst songs on my playlist
Still, today is my birthday
I am sixteen
It is a time to celebrate the sixteen years i have been struggling along
Tomorrow will be the same as yesterday
And today will be the only
I think of my favorite flowers
Red columbine, clematis, water lily
Trembling, mental beauty, tranquility
I think that if someone gave me a clematis today
I would cry and preserve it forever
I'd like to hide away
And sit with my poetry
And cup of coffee
Writing about the beauty of the world
That I cannot see

'Do you want to go to a club?' he asked her.
She nodded and might even have smiled
He couldn't tell from
The gloom of her smartphone.

The club had a band and they played all the night
While she was playing Zombie Fight
The crowd got too crazy, and soon went to rush
While she was playing Candy Crush.

Her boyfriend got bored and went for a look
While she was checking her Facebook
He met a girl and he did the deed
While she was checking her Twitter feed.

She went to find him, looked up at the band
Wanted a member to hold by the hand
But they were all taken by girls who could try
While this girl just looked down and checked Spotify.

On the way home she saw a lady
On a Youtube vid' called 'What you've all  paid me.'
The people who watch her all make her life good
Be like her? The girl wished that she could.

I never knew
that the sound of those raindrops
on my window
the scent of wet soil
after rain
the melodies of these songs
on my spotify playlist
could remind me of you

remind me of the sound of
your lovely laughter
remind me of the scent of
your sweet perfume
remind me of the sound of
your sleepy voice

— I never knew
that missing you
could be this tough.

When that song comes
I think of you
I think of those green eyes staring right back at me
I know you don’t like it when I talk about your eyes cause I know you want to be known as you and not with those eyes
I know that when you stared at the wall behind me
You think of her
The song was playing and you were thinking of her
And you told me you were sad
I asked why and you didn’t respond
Why did I even ask you that when I know the answer
Maybe this whole thing is an assumption so that I can get you out my mind
This isn’t poetry!
I keep thinking about how distant you got
I don’t want these feelings
I don’t want to care
I hate how much I randomly think of you cause texting you before we slept together was already a habit
A routine that you made me do
But I’m always reminded about what a genuine person you truly are
As the time goes by I’ve been diving into my responsibilities just to get
You
Out
Of
My
System.
This is why I press skip when the song starts playing on my Spotify

I downloaded my honest expression of feelings for you
but it came as a zip file
and I’m hardly tech savvy
so It sits in my hardrive with the other long lost files
like that first bike ride without training wheels
and christmas back before it all got so painfully awkward
two spaces above it
is the memory of being chased by angry farmers on tractors
and the file I edited last
was my self-image profile picture

I want you.
but sometimes wires don’t connect and the connection tends to
falter - lag
so I sent my mind to the pornographic district
where the lights flicker so red, like your favorite shade of lipstick
and for a few minutes there I committed biblical abomination
which is a fancy ******* way of saying I jacked off
before checking my local news site for the five day forecast
rain, rain, rain, rain, but a hint of sunshine

Woah! That’s a risky site! Are you sure you still want to continue?
not really. But last time I checked I never asked you for anything
so I’m buying the ingredients for happiness on ebay
two parts forty ounces of malt liquor
three parts resin stained smoking apparatus
two parts the wrong crowd
and ten parts stupid *** decisions
now I’m stumbling upon locked door keyholes
to see bootleg copies of your next summer blockbuster
they’re worth the ten dollars a pop - I’m just broke

I tried to upload a **** shaming video of you to youtube
but it was taking too **** long to process
so instead I tweeted all 140 of the characters I have played
and wrote you a bittersweet, scathing review
4.5 stars out of 5 - would not recommend
#FuckYou
I would still swipe right to your front door on silent nights
smelling like a bad rock and roll cliche
saying the same one liners over and over again

I listened to your swan song on spotify
and yeah, I’ll admit, It had me swaying
but that might just be the new “Twenty dollar a week diet”
I was forwarded online
so skype with my self-esteem
and IM me your holy of holies
and I’ll pretend whichever God you follow is up there somewhere
maybe I am just a post on your blog
maybe I’m just the virus causing you to curse at low speed internet
but I think you should leave your ISP a nasty voicemail
because this headspace is corrupted
and this computer is crashing towards an eternal shutdown

First track got released on Spotify, any support would be greatly appreciated.

In My Feelings

https://open.spotify.com/album/5k9VvA0ZHbDUBRgNpMjZWS

While I return and slow down
to the classics;
the film analog cameras,
vinyl records,
typewriters,
silent movies,
worn-out pocketbooks,
and other novelties
of the old world charm...

I also enjoy the convenience
of the contemporary;
my phone's one-click camera,
spotify premium,
notes app,
netflix,
kindle,
and other niceties
that the here and now has to offer...

And while I rev back
to the retro and vintage,
I also race forward
to the excitement and danger
brought about by the internet,
of chatting with a familiar stranger.
of exchanging laughters in electronic.
of feeling emotions from a vague, distant, technical, difficult source.

Oh, the thrill and tragedy of technology!

I wake up on a yogibo. It's comfy, but,
I'm in what is now just
My room.
It feels empty.

All the clutter
That made it look lived in
Is in the three empty
Sock and underwear drawers
That used to be:
Hers.

All the pictures of us
and half the nerdy posters
were removed from the walls.
Half of the games,
movies,
books,
Magic the Gathering cards,
Are all gone, so the shelves look bare.
Half the closet is empty.

I walk into the hallway and pass three doors
The first door leads to a bathroom,
The second a closet.
The third is what I now call a "guest bedroom".
The only things in it are an
Empty dresser covered in
Princess stickers...
And a bed frame.

I try not to leave that door open.

Go Down stairs
Sink into car,
Turn on Spotify
Crank the volume to 24
So I can't hear my own thoughts.

Drive to work.

Belt all of the lyrics and jam to "The one" and "Whoa whoa whoa" and "sloppy seconds".
By Watsky.
Clock in,
Apron up,
Shout: "Morning, family!"

How am I doing? "I'm awesome! how are you?"
How am I doing? "I'm wonderful! what brings you to freeport?"
How am I doing? "I'm fantastic, peak or dark roast?"

How's my daughter?

"Well actually... I
Broke up with her mom
And I
...
Wasn't the biological father
so I don't get to see her anymore.
My manager said that customers are getting
Uncomfortable around me
because I am too open so that's the
Scripted version I have to tell you."

Even though I'd love to tell you
that I don't know how she's doing,
and it kills me.
How I told her mom that even though she didn't have any
Compassion left for me,
And she lied to me,
Tortured me more than any human
on this earth and was slowly draining the
Life and sanity out of my body
like a leech, that I
Knew what I was signing up for
when I started to call myself
Daddy.
That I was leaving her,
so we could both get
Better, but I was not leaving that little girl.
And if she would let me
Love her, or
Watch her, or
Buy her birthday presents,
I would,
because she was the best thing to ever happen to me.

when you ask me how she's doing
All I can think about
is how I earned that first "I
love you,
dada."

How I made her laugh more times than her
Mother made her
Cry. How I tucked her in
and she made me read her
"Oh The Places You'll Go", over and
Over and
Over.
Screaming when I said she'd go
On through the hakken kraks howl, and
Giggling when I said she'd move mountains.
I raised her for three years and she called me
Daddy.
But her mother said
that because I wasn't the biological father
I don't have any right to see her.

"How am I doing? I'm awesome."
"How am I doing? I'm wonderful."
"How am I doing? I'm waking up."

thinking about what to write..... *idea hits

& she looked so amazing walking out of her house with the beige dress I had bought her for her birthday the month before.
“Hey my handsome prince, where are we going today?” she said.
“Well my love, for our anniversary we will be planning out our dream date together… how does that sound?”
“You always have the best ideas, lets go to “the spot” and write the ideas down…… but first, can we stop by a 711? You know how we get when we’re on high caffeine and full of ideas. I feel like we deliver them more properly, plus I just woke up an hour ago so I could use it”
“Sure thing babe.”

I always wondered how she could say the right things at the wrong times… although all went bad, her words always picked my knees up from the ground when I took the wrong turn.

At this time, I don’t think I’m at my best, but I know that if I lead the road while holding her hand, she’ll know exactly where to turn when I swerve off road.

This moment is special and I’m currently watching her move her head around to our favorite song on the train going to Pearl.

May 27, 2015// WHY DOES THIS GIRL ADD SO MUCH ******* CREAMER IN HER COFFEE *** SHE IS GOING TO DIE OF OVER CREAMING…. THAT DOESN’T MAKE SENSE AND IT ALMOST SOUNDS WRONG… DAVID YOU’RE WEIRD… 2:04 Pm.

-David Bojay

I could see the places we were passing on the train from the reflection in her eyes. I never thought I could see the world in someone’s eyes. I can feel the tilt of the earth when she changes emotion and her eyes change in shape.

“Dream Date List // May 27, 2015”

1. Go to Downtown Dallas
2. Art museum
3. Ice cream trucks
4. Meditate at Klyde Warren in the middle of the field
5. Go for a walk Downtown and try to get on rooftops
6. Get on green lane and go to Deep Ellum to get serious pizza

“Babe are we almost there? I forgot where the stop was..”
“Yes my princess, we’re almost there”
“I’m so ******* hyped dude ***, I like how I can call you dude and feel comfortable like… dude….dude… dude dude dude nothing can tear us apart dude. I love you dude. **** too bomb dude. Dude you’re daddy as ****. Dude. Dude…. See? Our bond is one of a kind and we’re both kind of crazy. I wonder where we’ll be in 5 years”

“To be honest, we’ll probably be in a loft in New York doing a lot of drugs and on Spotify. That would be “goals as ****” don’t you think?”

“Boy hell nah you got me ****** up we are both going to work and make that mullah baby!”

Nothing could crack our humor.

2:54 Pm, May 27, 2015

DAVID DUDE, YOU MADE IT WITH THIS GIRL YOU LOVE… SOMEONE CAN HANDLE YOUR CRAZINESS.. DUDE WHAT THE ****… SHE’S LIKE….. LSD??? CLOSE. WAIT… NO… SHE CAN’T BE COMPARED.. **** I’M SO YOUNG, AND SHE IS TOO. THERE’S SO MUCH MORE TO EVERYTHING….
ART
MEDITATION
WATER
ENERGY
BREATHING
PROTEIN BECAUSE GAINZ AS ****
BOOKS
CONSCIOUSNESS
QUANTUM PHYSICS
PSYCHOLOGY
MONEY (**** THAT)
PASSION
NATURE

THERE’S SO MUCH MORE TO ALL THAT, I AM ONLY 17 AND SHE IS TOO

-David Bojay


We stepped out the train and I had waited for her to get out first because my mom always told me to always let the lady go first…. and so I did.

“You hungry?” I asked
“Not really… but I will be after we smoke this..”
“Did you really just…. you know us so well it’s almost kind of alien of you.”

We were walking towards the elevator and I was talking about how I was about to ******* the other night to the thought of her grabbing my **** at my old church while everyone was praying… we both worked a different way and we thought the idea was…. doable.

lights blunt
“It’s funny how we’re so annoying to each other yet we can’t get enough of eachother… I guess you the one huh?”
“David, to be honest… you’re too much for me sometimes… but holy **** I always want you around…. you’re such a sick ****.”

starts to laugh

“Dude… babe… do you feel that? I THINK THOSE ARE FEELINGS I FEEL TOWARDS YOU AYYYY”
“You’re ******* lame” HAHAHA.
“Come here..”
smack smack muah muah **
“Ugh you always kiss me at the wrong times… I ALWAYS GET WET AT THE WRONG PLACES… SEE THIS IS WHAT I MEAN BY YOU BEING A SICK ****”

Time goes by so fast when you want it to last forever. Whenever something feels so good, the impossible is wished and you want the delusion of “forever” to be actualized.

“Remember that time you told me I could never be able to make you *** in under a minute?”
“Uhmm yes… you can’t…”
puts hand under my pants
begins to stroke aggressively

The view was breath taking… or was she just taking my breath away.
“The Reunion Tower is so small compared to the others, but I guess it has a better view?” I thought to myself while she was jacking me off.

“TOLD YOU I COULD HAAAAA, YOU OWE ME HEAD NOW”

“*** I DIDN’T EVEN FEEL IT COME OUT WHAT THE ****…. MY **** NUMB”

3:48pm, May 27, 2015

YOUR PAIN IS MINE NOOOOOOW
THIS SONG IS SO GREAT
WE ARE SO CLOSE
WE ARE ON EARTH
GROUNDED
WE ARE HERE
TODAY
RIGHT NOW
LOOKING AT CIVILIZATION IN “MODERN IN TIMES”
IN 20 YEARS THIS WILL BE SO OLD
TECHNOLOGY IS ADVANCING SO FAST FOR HUMANS TO FULLY UNDERSTAND THIS
WHY ARE THEY KILLING SO MANY TREES
MAYBE PEOPLE LIVED LONGER BACK THEN BECAUSE THEY HAD MORE OXYGEN TO BREATHE
MAYBE OXYGEN IS LIMITED TO EVERY INDIVIDUAL AND SOME OF US JUST TAKE DEEPER BREATHS AND THAT’S HOW WE DIE YOUNGER
I DOUBT IT BUT ****… I’D BE DEAD AS **** ALREADY BECAUSE MEDITATION
WE ARE HERE
IN THE NOW
WHICH IS TECHNICALLY THE PAST NOW
NOW
NOW
NOW
TIME IS…. I DON’T EVEN KNOW

-David Bojay

Walking towards the art museum, we had talked about how men are just like animals, they target women with big *** and *******. We share information like if we were Gods communicating.
In my opinion, we are Gods… we are put in a person's life at a certain “time” and we deliver messages from a higher consciousness to them and they do the same. I think it’s fate, we need eachother. We need to communicate.

“David, throughout all the fights…. I ******* love you so ******* much and I appreciate you so much for listening…. I’m trying to tell you how I feel when you already know, I just thought it’d be romantic…. I’m such a fool for you… in the gayest way possible.”

I looked at her and smiled… she already knew what I was saying. It’s like if we could communicate with our eyes.
As we walked into the art museum, we noticed everything was so productive. The art spoke to us in a language on our eyes could try to understand and our minds could read if we really looked at it.

“Do you think it’s possible to understand art David?”

“Art is like a human, it never really stops changing. It renews itself like how our cells do. It has purpose, and that is to keep the world alive. To make life worth it in the moment, and the moments gather and moments put together is called “LIFE”. I think. Art is every subject you know blended into one. It can only be understood if you choose to box it in a place where it can’t breathe. Let it breathe. Let it flow through your mind like how blood flows through your veins.”

Every painting spoke to our minds and the more we observed, the more our minds opened and let the angels and demons of the art dimension live in our heads.

“I’m getting pretty hungry now?”

“Pizza my love?”

“Yes please.” **holds hand

// 4 minutes until green lane arrives //

“You guys happen to have any spare change? I’m just trying to get something to eat, I’ve been out here sin..”
“Look man, I don’t really care about your ******* story, I don’t believe it.”

Nobody needs to explain anything if they need it that bad, it’s yes or no and if they do explain, they’re lying to you.

Arrives at Serious Pizza

“What would you like darling? Anything you want, I got you.”

“Oooooook mister big ballah.”

“Shiiiiiet you already know.”

As we were eating, I noticed how unafraid we were to eat infront of eachother. The days, people are so afraid to be themselves and act scared because they’re afraid they won’t be accepted by how they really are. You have to find comfort within yourself before anything.

“Are you full yet?”

“Yeah I’m pretty ******* full, you want to head back to the park and chill?”

“Yes, plus we still have to meditate over there remember?”

“Oh yeah, well let’s dip.”

As we get to the park we find a spot and just sit for a while without saying a word. Sometimes silence is needed when the world around you is being noisy.

“Cross your legs and close your eyes, remember not to name the sounds you hear and to just let every emotion settle in, let it sink, and let it go. Practice your deeper insight and just relax.”

During meditation, being comfortable is key because if something is bothering you, the practice will be interrupted.

// 20 minutes pass //

“We’re so small, but it’s crazy how you and I are the change.”

Our conversations really put us in the right mindstate and that’s what made our spiritual sides really connect. We are one and together pain is numb.

phone rings

“David my mom said I have to go home….”

“Already?”

“I know babe… sorry. We’ll schedule something this week for sure.”

Getting on the train we both realized how tired we were and how the high wore off.

Together our love could break barriers, they might as well not even exist. Barriers are just limits created by someone who was too afraid to give it their all… to unleash their full potential.

“Hey, want to read a poem I wrote for you?”

“Why would you even ask?”

“Ok here we go, I’m still not finished but you’ll get it…”

“The world is there for you
My arms are open
These envelopes are yet to be sent
When the leaves fall don't change your mood
You've been one since the start
Don't die on yourself over someone or a situation you can control
Your strength is the equivalent of that of a bull
Love will come and go
But self love stays and I hope you love yourself just as much as you dream a guy will love you as much as I did
Look at the waves clashing for you
Admire the sky that's falling for you
******* yourself for the eyes on you
But stay strong for they are not all pure intentions
Feel free to test but not enough to cause relations“

“ I want you to know that your words are imprinted in the deepest parts of my heart and that they’ll remain there for the rest of my life my love, we will prosper through the thick and through the thin of this life we judge so much when we try to understand it. David I love you so much and I hope you never forget that.”

“ I won’t princess, I promise you that I won’t.”

silence for the rest of the train ride

7:57 Pm, May 27, 2015

TODAY WAS ******* GREAT
DAVID
YOU ARE IN LOVE
HOW DOES THAT FEEL
HOW DOES IT FEEL HUH?
YOU ARE 17
YOU ARE A DREAMER
YOUR DREAM CAME TRUE
I’M WATCHING HER SLEEP RIGHT NOW AND IT FEELS LIKE IF I’M IN A MOVIE

OKAY WE’RE ALMOST HOME…

-David Bojay

“Wake up baby, we’re here.”

“Dude I’m so glad we’re home, I’m tired as ****.”

“Tell me about it… get up… the doors are opening.”
We were holding hands on the way to the car and telling each other jokes, time finally felt still.
The sun was close to setting so we sat on the curb and just watched the sky sink into the ground… at least that’s how it looked like from a distance.

We stood up and walked to the car, I opened her door and let her sit down before I shut the door.

I stood there for 3 seconds looking at her through the window… she blew me a kiss and I stood there and smiled.

Walking towards my door I had to face the truth… I opened the door….


the seat was empty, my heart was too.
I hope she’s resting easy.
I hope her spirit was with me today, I knew it was.
The delusion felt so real, so so real.
My mind sees what it wants, I talk to the air as if it was you.
I spread my love, as if you were there to grasp it.
I hope you know I miss you, so so much.
I don’t know where I’ve been, and I don’t know what I’ve been getting myself into.
Your ghost is so beautiful.
I wish you were alive to celebrate our anniversary.
We did everything you wanted to do…. I mean… I did everything you wanted to do on our anniversary.
Today was in memory of you my darling, I’ll prosper if you guide me.
I’m really good at pretending you’re alive, I wish it wasn’t all just an illusion, I wish I wasn’t so ******* crazy.
I wish you would’ve never ******* died.
I’m dead inside, but my breathing is split in half so we can share my life.
I hope I prosper.
Why did you have to leave?
I miss you.
Baby.
Dude.
Whenever you decide to come back, I’ll be waiting and we’ll relive today… forreal this time.

8:23, May 27, 2015

DAVID
YOU’RE SHAKING WHILE YOU ARE WRITING THIS
YOU ARE CRYING
YOU ARE CONSCIOUS
YOU ARE ALIVE
SHE IS PASSED
DAVID
WHY ARE YOU SO CRAZY
YOU SEE HER AND SHE’S DEAD
SNAP OUT OF IT DUDE
I CAN’T MAN
DUDE
PLEASE
NO
I CAN’T
DAAAVVVIIID
PLEASE STOP CRYING
THIS SHEET IS GETTING WET
DAVID
I THINK YOU SHOULD GO HOME AND GET SOME SLEEP
DAVID
YOU WILL BE OKAY
YOU WILL PROSPER MAN DON’T GIVE UP
PLEASE… DON’T

- David Bojay




I love you so much.

Here I am, the manic pixie dream girl of, you guessed it; your dreams. I am here to ask you questions about your boring, probably something generic, major like business or management or maybe even some type of art form that no one really knew existed until you decided to bring it to your high school and of course the liberal arts school of your dreams has that EXACT program and all the means to support it financially. Of course, I will always ask about you. How your day is, how your plain black coffee is, what you thought of that one song that played as we were walking into the train after a date that both of us probably went on looking to get laid. But in the end, it will always be you. I will continue to fluff your deflated ego that was caused as such by some hollywood trope from your hometown like a cheerleader or maybe even someone who was on AV Club with you, who really knows, because I sure as hell don’t care to do any research into it. Now, part of being your early to mid-twenties manic pixie dream girl, it is essential for us to bond over old broken up bands that neither one of us were actually alive to see perform yet that dream of ours is still so prevalent as we make conversations over whiskey you assume I like because of it’s pretentious name that you will describe as “harsh yet creamy, dry but sweet” and on bad nights I will tell you that it tastes like the back of my father’s hand and you will laugh at a joke I did not intend to tell but then again I will have to ask you what is so funny. I will always be the one asking you about a life I am so willing to leave without even meeting your family. Being a manic pixie dream girl is all fun and games until I am the one always doing the starting of conversations, until I am the one sending you Spotify playlists that I know you will never listen to, until I am the one showing up unannounced. My name will roll off your tongue like smoke from your American Spirits, but only in the beginning, because by the end; you will cough when I finally tell you to stop calling me.

I wake up on a yogibo. It's comfy,
But I'm in what is now just
My room.
It feels empty.

All the clutter that made it look lived in is in the three empty sock and underwear drawers that used to be
Hers.
All the pictures of us and half the nerdy posters were removed from the walls.
Half of the games, movies, books, Magic the Gathering cards,
Are all gone so the shelves look bare.
Half the closet is empty.

I walk into the hallway and pass three doors
The first door leads to a bathroom,
The second a closet.
The third is what I now call a "guest bedroom".
The only things in it are an
Empty dresser covered in
Princess stickers...
And a bed frame.
I try not to leave that door open.

I walk down the stairs and grab my coat.
I go out to my car, sink into my seat, turn on the engine and check my phone.
I've got two text messages, and a new tinder match.

I ignore it all and open spotify.
I start playing Watsky's album "All you can do".
I crank the volume to 24 so I can't hear my own thoughts.

I check the first text message.

It's from the
Mutual friend of the nice girl
Who I might date when I'm better.

"Hey don't worry about it, she has a lot going on and is super busy all of the time.
She wanted to meet you to see if she liked you but I think shes not really into you.
She said you were super nice, she just can't be with someone as outgoing as you
I think. She's super shy. I really thought she might like you but I guess not. lol.
Sorry!"

I check the second text message.

It's from the
**** buddy in Kennebunk
Who I met on tinder.

"What are you doing tomorrow?"
Sent at 8:33pm yesterday.
I reply: "nothing! wanna hang today? when are you free?"
"I'm free pretty much all day/night. Warning:
I just got my period, so I feel like absolute ****.
I need good feels and comfort(food), if you will. so when?" I send:
"Uhh, I got errands to run... i'll get back to you" In return, I receive a polite:
"Go **** yourself. :) "

I go check the tinder match...
"...Oops."
Unmatch.
No reason.
I Drive to work.
I belt all of the lyrics and jam to "The one" and "Whoa whoa whoa" and "sloppy seconds".
Shut the car down, clock in, apron up, shout: "Morning, family!"

How am I doing? "I'm awesome! how are you?"
How am I doing? "I'm wonderfull! what brings you to freeport?"
How am I doing? "I'm awesome, peak or dark roast?"

How's my daughter?

"Well actually... I
Broke up with her mom and I
Wasn't the biological father so I don't get to see her anymore,
and my manager said that customers are getting
Uncomfortable around me because I am too open so that's the
Scripted version I have to tell you."

Even though I'd love to tell you that I don't know how she's doing, and it kills me.
How I told her mom that even though she didn't have any
Compassion left for me, and she lied to me,
Tortured me more than any human on this earth and was slowly draining the
Life and sanity out of my body like a leech, that I
Knew what I was signing up for when I started to call myself
Daddy.
That I was leaving her, so we could both get
Better, but I was not leaving that little girl.
And if she would let me
Love her, or
Watch her, or
Buy her birthday presents that I would because she was the best thing to ever happen to me.
And when you ask me how she's doing
All I can think about is how I earned that first "I
love you,
dada."
How I made her laugh more times than her
Mother made her
Cry. How I tucked her in and she made me read her
"Oh The Places You'll Go", over and
Over and
Over. Screaming when I said she'd go
On through the hakken kraks howl, and
Giggling when I said she'd move mountains.
I raised her for three years and she called me
Daddy.
But her mother said that because I wasn't the biological father I don't have any right to see her.

"How am I doing? I'm awesome."
"How am I doing? I'm wonderful."
"How am I doing? I'm waking up."

We never listen to albums from beginning to end anymore.

Thanks, Spotify.
Sorry for sinning, Taylor Swift.
And I guess there is an owed apology to ACDC and the Beatles because you aren't on there either.

But guess what.

Today I actually listened to an old favorite from beginning to end.
(not you guys though)

Good News for People Who Love Bad News.

Every song. In order. And it threw me back to ninth grade,
Faster than even my favorite photograph could.

The lyrics made me scream them and the even the (three) interludes made me smile.

And you're right, Taylor,
It was a work of art.

Good thing it was nearly free
(99 cents for three months)

Or else my morning would have not have passed so swiftly. Or so modestly.

when the sky blackens,
and the full moon brightly rears
its white bald head,
their words resound in my ears
from ghost-mouths and artful
tongues which, like thorny roses,

bloom and snag.
darkness shepherds them in.
and now, in solitude, under the charm
of somnolent night,
words cease to be words alone—
they are life in a breath.
they are lips and teeth
and tongue and cheek,
skin, blood, and bone.

hitting save on another task as my spotify playlist sways in the background. my yawn reaches my stomach. my dark circles bring a great contrast to my greyish-bluish eyes. i'm learning french again. maybe because it's supposed to be the language of love and maybe because i want to watch Plein Soleil without subtitles.

it's june still. my ex who said she was still my friend went to a pride parade without me. it's fine, maybe i'll get to wear my colors on my sleeves next june. maybe i'll meet some queers in college. if i ever finish my housing application.

california state university northridge. blissfully away from home, but achingly not far enough. beautiful to it's core and yet i can't shake this churning anxiety in my fingers, in my brain, in my heart. i wish everything wasn't online so maybe this yellow brick road winding me to my future would feel more real.

this town is so ugly. it's not big, not small. it isn't even pretty if you genuinely enjoy the look of washed out suburbs. all the colors are dulled by the sun, and not in the soft pastel way. it's like the skies rained gallons of bleach, if it ever once rained here. this place is full of skeletons hanging on to purgatory.

but i'd suffer damnation if i said i wasn't scared out of my mind about leaving it.

I have a theory.

My theory is about frailty. Moments of frailty. Being fragile to the core that it shakes you to your bones. Being weak and standing up on your own just scares the hell out of you. Despite all these, you try to keep the one thing that keeps your weaknesses intact and in one place. It is hidden inside their throats and at the palm of their hands, at their neck and behind their ears. It is sitting in their lungs, begging for escape but longing for the hold. Flaunt and retire. Flaunt and retire.

My theory is about frailty. Moments of frailty. You started unbuttoning my ribs around you. Watched me try to untangle myself from your subtle embrace. Exposed my weakness, my fragile strings wrapped on your pinky finger, ready to release, ready to detonate. I unzipped your thighs wrapped around my waist. You left me alone with your scent. Watch me try to scrub away the heat you leave on my skin. See the buttons slowly falling on the bed we shared.

My theory is about frailty. Moments of frailty. How I want to destroy anything that dared touch me and took a piece of my lonely. It is about open palms giving vague dislike. It is a table for two but only an empty seat stares at your eyes. It is feeling the awkward breaking that is within your fingertips but never seemed to be enough for preparing you for the fall. You finally wake up choosing to breathe but still flinching at the sound of something coming near. Your subtleties dance on her tongue's words. Soothing as they are, they're poison.

My theory is about frailty. Moments of frailty. How being brave is nowhere near your grasping distance. You try, every single day you try. You try to always go for the long term but the universe decides what you get, right? And you're always left with dust, shadows, and empty bottles of what ifs. You're always left with the questions, the sitting alone, the cold coffee in the morning. You're left with the sad playlists  on your Spotify. You're left on your own. If you were in The Fault in our Stars book, that will be my always.

My theory is about frailty. Moments of frailty. Fears. Trembling hands holding out cups of secrets. Awkwardness in every written letter on paper hidden under the pillow. Loneliness sitting next to old books bought on a favorite bookstore. Depression long gone but resurfaces every now and then. It's one of things that stayed. Self-hate. It is one thing you run towards to when things get rough and when doubts are heavier than anything you laid your hands on and tried to carry.

My theory is about frailty. Moments of frailty. Of how I recently started loving myself and slowly drowning my hate in formaline. Of how I keep on repeating I never need the reassurance. Of how poems are all I need to feel like I can feel air inside my lungs again.

It is one thing to have a theory, and another to face it in practice.

They were playing the beach boys
all day at work today
I went up to the computer
I typed in Black beach boys on Spotify
a white coworker put her hand on her hips
she said to me,
“Elan, there are no black beach boys, Im sorry.”
So I had my graphic designer friend
take an old beach boys poster
replace their faces with black men
Then he changed it to "Black Beach Boyz”
I put it on a T shirt
very professionally done
made me proud
I wore it to work the next day
My white coworker asked me
with a confused face and tone
“There really are the black beach boys?”
I said with a straight face,
“Yes they were the original. Then the white beach boys took their name and music and became famous.”
She said after a pause,
“Oh, wow. I didn’t know that."

sometimes I have trouble getting out of bed
I have to remind myself that’s it easier DONE than said
and every thought that manifests negativity
pulls me down the ocean -heavy weights made of lead

On the best days, I wake up in a dance
popping up in a quick shimmy- boogie- smile at hand
no second glance, or worry of the stress of the Mundane Monday
I speak romance to the mirror at every passing chance

The weather may first try to gain my trust
bird songs, licking light, no signs of gust
than it erupts, black doom lurks in front of careless moon
to the south it hid behind the mountains musk

no worries, it’s a good day to say I’m feeling happy
****** snappy moody or grumpy is not available in my vocabulary
i’m still on the groove, slipping off clothes that reflect my CAN DO attitude
slip into the shower, shifting hips to the soul tunes groove

sparkled and wet, otter of the lake, dam it feels great
Circumvent the loops, bypass the dead thoughts, like a dog i shake
bitter bumps of sand traps- sad masks- quiver at my deliver
towel away empty dreams- ugly memes that act to turn me bitter

brush away the plaque attacks in nightmare fashion
practicing faces, singing freestyle lyrics into the brush i just mentioned
ecstatic on cold marble floors- tapping toes -no closed bathroom door
easy on the pitch but ******* the message with strength rattling ROARSSSS!

I want the neighbors to hear my dynamic e-lec-tricity
hoping the good vibes vibrate past time; spread e-ccen-tricity
unique to the core, spit out dead days from sleepy heads
never going back to bed, life is outside the sheets so i greet ser-en-dipity

no job, no re-spon-si-bility EXCEPT the passions i create
truth, wonder at my superhuman shadow- outline of a cape
raise pumped fists-strangle lips quick- quit bitchni- leave complaints nonequipped
write that one down on your skin "never make the same mistakes again"

BUT gather up the courage to make mistakes and invite failure
allure bigger challenges- results become grander -risks don’t matter
obscure past EVIL deeds - misused time -walking turns to running with ease
take a photo, say "cheese!" post the groove of happy on the line of loves lure

brushed hair is dry- twinkle in the eye -[Wink] I’m superfly!
rick james playing on spotify! ******, who says life can’t get you high?!
rock into the rhythm- step stage center- spotlight -dance solo -practice makes better
i’ve SILVERED into bliss -no remorse -forget remiss- gone without ever puffing at the spliff

shoes are shined -laces wound tight -green socks :) the days feeling alright
just might take a chance on one fear everyday -365 a year -"achievement" place here
smiling like crazy- no lady in the bed- not a problem inside my head
I’m not lazy just no game lately- and its better that way- time to refocus on myself instead

I’m working to be perfect or at least better than last
morning awaken the spoken energy of the daylight to pass
out the door by nine o clock -sun shine warms on the spot
first foot drives home the message, right foot cleans up leftover wreckage

down the block- leaves glisten green- butterfly- bees- heartbeats open at the seam
good morning trees -concrete streets -sleeping lights- leftover evenin cool breeze
I’m at ease with the reality created, manifested happiness -behind me shadows faded
beat the drums to my footsteps-cars burn down ozone so i chose my feet over keys

its too easy, too easy to feel this good, dr. seuss rhymes -everyone should
or -wish they could read a book -excuses are like time --if they could find IT they WOULD-
i make few plans to keep action in a blink span
I have a list for today-it started when I awake--It read:

TO CAPTURE NOW:
1-SING SHOWERS
2 DANCE ******
3 SPREAD LOVE

understand?

I thought of you today when I noticed the dirt underneath my fingernails
And when I felt the wind in my hair as I flew down a hill on my bike
And when I stared at the Hocking River again as it gently swirled downstream.
When I realized I’d be going to bed early and
When I thought about sleeping alone,
As I do almost every night.
When I decided to go the long way home.
When I sat down on a bench, ate a granola bar, and sipped away the rest of my water.
When I threw my shovel aside and dug with my hands.
When I wiped the sweat from my brow.
When I looked at my Aloe Vera plant and realized I hadn’t watered it in a while.
When I watered my Aloe Vera plant.
When I left the dinner table before the rest of my friends to call my grandma
Who once told me that you and I should get married.
When I laughed at my own thoughts
And when Ani DiFranco came on my Spotify.

I don’t exactly know what I mean
When I say I thought of you.
I don’t know anything exactly, I mean
What if the universe jumps erratically through temporal space,
And each moment only seems continuous cuz we only remember what came “before” it, as we say?
When I say that, when I think about that,
I guess I’d call that thinking about you.

I thought about you when I thought about
Getting ice cream
And when I thought I got a splinter,
Neither of which
Actually happened.