Download This (I'm aware that this title is not clever)

iDig the way I look tonight,
cause I'm wearing thick-rimmed glasses,
a cardigan and a tortured-artist haircut.
My place is colder than necessary; the heat is free,
cause I need to wear sweaters inside
cause I need to look really fucking good.

Or accurate, at least.
Appropriate.

Like,
do you ever feel like the world is too big
and you just wanna decorate a little corner and stay there?
Yeh.

Art crowd self-depreciation is awful.
Awful, awful stuff, that.

Fuck Whatever (is it a reference or a rip off?...who knows?)

Courting;
this is a thing I've written about like
a bunch of times.
That's fair, I think.
Crystal-eyed trite glassy sentiments
fake posturing
false nonchalance
bent truths.
That's fair too.
You're ornamental.
That's not insult.

When I tell you 'ornamental,'
I mean that in the best possible way.
Like a glass statue (more glass?)
above your grandmother's fireplace,
or near her stove,
that you will always recognize
and might buy a copy of.
Especially if you haven't visited in a dog's age.
'There he goes nostalgic again, drinking.'
Fuck whatever.

Afterparty Babies

Okay.

Right now it's 6:08pm, Saturday Febuary 16th, and I'm sitting on my couch with Arbeau's labtop and some headphones listening to my e-stolen copy of Cadence Weapon's upcoming (Mrach 4th) release, 'Afterparty Babies,' and I'm not even through the first track but my fucking mind is fucking blown. I don't even know how to explain how good this is. It's fucking perfect. This is amazing.

It's 100% the most impressive, original and important rap music since like, fucking, I don't even know. I wanna say something like Pharrell or something, but that doesn't even cover it. I know it won't be recognized for being as important as it it, but at least on an underground level, it should get mad props.

So I feel like this is completely irrelevant in light of the music I'm listening to right now, but I'm gonna finish Tuesdays this weekend, like I said I was going to on V-Tyne's day, but fuck that day anyway. Fuck, I feel like everything in my life is irrelevant in light of this album.

It's so much different than other hip hop that it's the most hip hop thing I've ever heard. It's just focused as hell. He fucking referenced Fleetwood Mac's rumours, which is a thing I did in a rap the other day, except his is way better, and Rumours fa lyfe. I think I'm in love with Cadence Weapon. He sampled himself again, which is so awesome. It's like Straight Outta Compton when they kept sampling Eazy Duz It. It's as fucking fresh as that too. This is way better than 'Breaking Kayfabe,' and that album changed how I felt about Hip Hop. This is fucking insane man, I can't even think straight.


www.mediafire.com/?1cudtwimt2z

prose warm-up

I remember her saying quite often that I wasn't here anymore and I was never quite certain what she meant by that. What the fuck does that mean? I was there, of course I was there, don't even ask me if I was there because I was. It was everywhere else that I wasn't. I didn't even want to be there most of the time, but I was. I don't remember the first time she said that but I do remember a few of the times we were in bed and I was just barely awake, with squinted, aching eyes, and weary of the morning, not wanting to sleep as a result of said weariness. But that didn't do me any good as it would make the morning even less bearable. And she'd look at me with those gigantic eyes of hers with the most trite, cheap, sopping wet expression I'd ever seen and say, quite bluntly, 'You're not here anymore.' And I wouldn't say anything.

Then I'd say something. I would argue, of course. But have you ever argued about an issue that you don't at all understand, but were certain that if you did understand you would disagree? That was me. She would say, 'you're not here,' and I would say, 'I am here. I'm always here. I'm here for you. 00110101011111010.'

Well, not really. But it was something that robotic. So I guess in that sense I wasn't there anymore. She'd refer to my short term memory, which was not impressive. But all of those things I blamed on her. I worked hard then. I work hard now, I suppose, but fuck, I worked harder then. I slept probably the same amount. None of this is new, I always complain of these things, even though I shouldn't. I never know where to stand with complaining. I like to believe that a man does as needed and requires no pity party, and that all work is honourable. But, really, I can tell an acquantance 'can't complain,' if I truly wish to do so, but I'll prove myself a liar when speaking to someone I'm more familiar with. But all of those people know I can complain, as they've heard me do so. I don't know if I know anyone who can't complain.

But that fucking bitch needn't complain. Leastly of my commitment or presence. I was the most consistently adoring and devoted partner one could ask for. And this isn't braggadocious, as I hardly think that such pathetic, hopeless devotion is any matter to brag about. But I fucking was there. I was always there, even when I wanted to be somewhere else, which was often.

But I guess I started talking to her like a tape recording. But that's because she barely seemed human to me. There was something so inhuman about here. So empty. Maybe that was her issue, emptiness. Yesterday a statistical surveyist asked me if I felt emptiness and I told him yes, and I know that to be true, but I have no idea why.

Maybe I'm just not here anymore.

F.Ton

I'm in Dan Tweedie's house.  It's pretty good.  We're going home at 5:45.  I'm almost excited about the bus ride.  Just Us Bucks keepin it real for Saint Jiggy on the SMT bus.  It's been an awesome weekend, despite the fact that I didn't see Wintersleep, which was originally the point of coming here in the first place.  Oh well.  It's not like they'll disappear.  I'll see them again at some point.  I have no where to go with the post but at least it lacks pretension.  I watched most of 'I Am Trying to Break Your Heart' today and that was pretty awesome.  So now I'm listening to Feist and chilling.  I'm glad I cloaked my next album with a concept cause I could write a song about a chick and lie about it and everyone would believe me.  I think.  Maybe not.   Suddenly I'm not 100% on the songs I've been writing.  Shit.

didnt read only revolutions but it reminded me of pretension

I'm all over and soaked in rebellion and confusion, like a lost child who lost himself. Standing near the check out counter waiting for someone to feel bad and reach out with scissor-like hands and short spines no confusion anymore, I say. Alas! I shall prevail. And the rest. It's very dark and there are no candles lit for fear of the grip of sleep finally making sense, which would be odd but favourable. All over you can call eclectic, waiting for a dictionary definition with my picture beside it and someone with an awkward step towards me with no mud on their boots. Boot prints all over my chest. I can still make the silliest youthful angst seem poetic, if I try hard enough.

But, when I go t o s l e e p e v e r y t h i n g w i l l bethes a me.

(could've used more adjectives (losthisdescriptiveedge)

Another Cigarette

Another cigarette.

poor substitute,
clutch crutches in my teeth,
can't climb the walls,
can pace. Can't cave again,
switch can do can't do that kick new things newer things.

Um. Yes.

Can't write quite rightly move to the right side shift slightly of course,

,
.

Pretend it isn't pretentious.

Make sure it sounds good.