20:49
The Pursuit of Happiness [III]
20:49Unforgiven by Beck Down on the street Just let the engine run 'Til there's nothing left Except the damage done Beck...
Unforgiven by Beck
Down on the street
Just let the engine run
'Til there's nothing left
Except the damage done
Beck's Morning Phase is on my top 10 favourite albums of all time. There is something about the ethereal ambience that transports me to some place better than reality every time I listen to tracks like Unforgiven, Wave or Morning -- for once, I feel at peace. I would say it has a similar affect on me like Bon Iver's Holocene, Pink Floyd's Comfortably Numb and Gregory Alan Isakov's Amsterdam. It is quite a complex feeling to unravel, at least for my part but it is there y'know? Surely you've encountered a song that made you go "oh wow!" with a slight of warmth flowing through your body and soul. Yeah...
I woke up at 10 today with a heavy chest. If I calculate it correctly, I had 11 hours of sleep in total and that only happens when I'm a bit off. My back is resting on the headboard of my bed and I am writing this in the dark even if it is 11 30am now (I always have my curtains closed) -- I wonder if I have changed or at least become a better person. I wonder if my parents are proud of me and whether they miss me as much as I miss them. I wonder once I start wondering about the wonders my brain might explode if I don't stop.
So,
stop wondering.
I
c
a
n
't.
Maybe tomorrow?
But,
I always say that
and you know me
because
you
ARE
me.
Have you ever heard the trembling voices of Conor Oberst, Thom Yorke, Keaton Hanson, Damien Rice, Elliott Smith, Matthew Houck (Phosphorescent)...? If I were to interpret the sounds of my soul, it'd be just that. Trembling vulnerability plucked by each note of whispers, laughter, stares, passing glances.
Lines,
spaces I have yet to fill.
Lies,
words that I used to conceal.
Books,
left untouched,
covered in dust.
Hands,
shivering,
covered by mere fabric.
Hair,
unkempt,
they know what I'm thinking.
Eyes,
half closed.
Lips,
chapped,
but that's okay.
Soul,
warm,
crippled within time,
pure but disheveled.
I woke up at 10 today with a heavy chest. If I calculate it correctly, I had 11 hours of sleep in total and that only happens when I'm a bit off. My back is resting on the headboard of my bed and I am writing this in the dark even if it is 11 30am now (I always have my curtains closed) -- I wonder if I have changed or at least become a better person. I wonder if my parents are proud of me and whether they miss me as much as I miss them. I wonder once I start wondering about the wonders my brain might explode if I don't stop.
So,
stop wondering.
I
c
a
n
't.
Maybe tomorrow?
But,
I always say that
and you know me
because
you
ARE
me.
Have you ever heard the trembling voices of Conor Oberst, Thom Yorke, Keaton Hanson, Damien Rice, Elliott Smith, Matthew Houck (Phosphorescent)...? If I were to interpret the sounds of my soul, it'd be just that. Trembling vulnerability plucked by each note of whispers, laughter, stares, passing glances.
Lines,
spaces I have yet to fill.
Lies,
words that I used to conceal.
Books,
left untouched,
covered in dust.
Hands,
shivering,
covered by mere fabric.
Hair,
unkempt,
they know what I'm thinking.
Eyes,
half closed.
Lips,
chapped,
but that's okay.
Soul,
warm,
crippled within time,
pure but disheveled.
Trapped... Trapped.
Roll down the window, I am suffocating. This place, it is treacherous.
Let me fly,
let me.
Lines,
spaces I have yet to find.
Lies,
words of dispute.
Books,
wrinkled covers,
bookmarked.
Hands,
warm by touch.
Hair,
brushed,
and longer.
Eyes,
opened.
Lips,
red,
sometimes burgundy.
Soul,
warm,
crippled within time,
pure but still learning.
