whatiwas

Blitzhosen was one of the greatest rock bands to ever exist, capable of moments of touching intimacy and spastic energy, fusing a fuzzy, classic-rock tone with witty, all-too-modern lyrics. I loved them mostly because of their music, but also because, despite the grandiose nature of their music, they were at heart just three unassuming guys in Minneapolis who made music because they loved it.

I...
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I don't feel like me today.

idle idol's idyll or idol's idle idyll or idyll idol's idle
without streetlights, the neighborhood looks like a small section of outer space chopped from the night and stretched thin over fragile ground. when you're walking the streets here, you have to do it in silence, because otherwise you can't believe that what you're doing is real, the lifeless concrete just appears and stretches into...
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I'm tired of this.

I've been idling in Portland for the better part of seven months now, doing little to solve my problems and lashing myself for it, using my own confusion and self-awareness as a crutch to keep me from facing some of the more glaring problems with me and myself. I've succeeded in few of my concrete statements made however many days ago...
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//somos los

somos los perdidos,

siempre viviendo sin vision//

i used to call this sought, but it's the seeking that made it pained and painted, it's been erratic like this for weeks now, you come in frames between dilations and you're always more coloful than i remember, i was told everyone looks better in red light and--(say it with me, now)--who am i to defy...
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i wish you could see me, shoulders constantly sloped and tensed, the impact isn't going to be much but i want it to be as unhealthy as possible because i close my eyes and i can feel ribs against mine arms against mine lips against mine, this ain't fucking working try again.

it's not just that, it's a collection of everything else, plus that.

i refuse to let you see me like that.

(do not read this.)

I was sitting in Ringlers, nodding my head to the Public Enemy song the D.J. had brought into his set in that hard-edged, slightly-imperfect way that made me love hip-hop so much, my mind flashing back to 1988, Ames, Iowa, in a blue 1980 Dodge Omni my father had traded our bright red Oldsmobile Cutlass for, sitting in the Target parking...
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i no longer have the energy or patience for games like this. i am more than content to be a plaything, but not if it has no reward when all is said and done. call me selfish, call male, that's fine. i can be objectified, and that's fine, but the courtesy of warning me that i'm being objectified would be nice.

oh, and don't ever,...
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