Family portrait outtake
sleeping alone is the saddest song,
to a cello with no case,
when it can feel the warmth and the energy of being strung.
And life is hard when when you feel the cold sheets,
in arms reach,
when last night they were warm.
Photoset from today
8) A$AP Rocky - “LongLiveA$AP”
The typeface is my favorite: Mr Eaves Mod OT
It’s supposed to be hard to read.
The photograph is a digital triple exposure, all in camera.
"Baptised in the gutter" is a slap rhyme from the song "Phoenix" on A$AP Rocky’s rippin album "LongLiveA$AP."
This album is a festering embodiment of what rhyme and rap should take hold of and acknowledge. Using guest artists to its full advantage, A$AP waits till the last second of every beat, teetering on an exponential album. Minus the samples, this album would have been number one.
she came to me in a dream,
white linens, cold air, mixed artificial heat.
she opened her eyes for a moment and
whispered, “come get in bed.”
and threw the sheets over her leg.
i stepped to the side,
and leaned my shoulder against he wall,
her hallway is narrow,
and there is a door behind me that
I don’t remember coming through.
I wore boots in this dream,
and I slid them off and then my shirt.
i sat on the edge of the bed,
she’s already asleep,
at least I think she is.
her eyes are closed,
breasts slightly exposed,
the moonlight is full in the room,
her black hair, blue,
heart tired, and mind unglued.
Silver linings in the backs of my
baby blues, and she opens her eyes
to see my face to the side,
six tears fall as I look back,
back at the last seven months.
She leans over and pushes her head into my shoulder,
"let’s get some sleep, I don’t want to talk."
and smell her hair,
a scent that would stop me dead in my tracks.
i can’t remember how i got here,
and it must be a dream,
I lie down beside her and then to the other side,
she likes her space,
but, i inch my toes closer to hers,
i put my foot underneath hers,
to show her i’m not running away,
i’m not going anywhere,
i disappeared into the night,
got caught up in the heartbreak,
got caught up in the mindset of being afraid.
And I reach over, tip-toe my fingers down her back,
a steady embrace,
and then I wake alone.
I hold a small red ball,
It reflects the light from afar,
I toss it into the air,
With all my might,
and the reflection is gone.
The power of words,
the words unconsidered,
are faster than a train carrying those to find their loved ones.
And like that, it could be done.
But, not with these nights.
Smoke between the mirrors,
We can see ourselves,
But not separate.
Just in a different light,
The one that was shown in the ascension of that small red ball.
It’s the only thing that could see.
Top 10 Albums of 2013 continues with…
9) The Wonder Years, with its album “The Greatest Generation”
Pop-Punk? Yeah, whatever. It’s good, okay.
My character doesn’t portray on that would enjoy such music or to have this one in my top 10 albums of the year.
Nevertheless, this album really hit home, from the very first listen. Perhaps the mood of the album, which is reminiscent and just honest. Or perhaps it’s just terrifically composed album with a lot of lyrics are seemingly perfect. It’s not the same mill-run pop-punk you are thinking of, I promise.
The photo was taken outside of Charleston, SC. It’s an in camera double exposure. Hand illustrated lyrics from the song “Passing Through a Screen Door, were added within Illustrator.
staring into the distance, we were never given a time, or a number,
and i never saw this coming. not like this, not right now.
indecision of irrationality and phone calls at three in the morning.
A road which was once as straight as it could be, I was looking too far ahead to see what was right in front of me.
staring into the distance, looking for the future, causing the present to become something of the past.
And i never saw this coming, not like this, not right now, not ever.
A day to the night, on and on.
Finding a fork in the road, for variance.
Sixteen years and I’m making myself mad.
Times of minding my own shadow,
Times of pouring salt in wounds, exposed again.
My mind is the river and it’s overflowing,
And a day to the night,
It’s like washing my face with oil,
Setting fire to the fire,
It’s like day to night,
And there’s no sign of the end.
Sixteen years and I’m finding my way out,
It’s been nine since I’ve found my mind.
And it’s gonna take a few steps,
To find the distance,
You could travel forever and never find your soul,
You could sleep forever and never calm your mind,
When you set fire to fire, with no end in sight.
Shadows of silence, beckoned once before.
Soil underneath fingernails, and the world gets cold.
Sunsets over sublet homes, and the time goes by.
Downswing, drowsy and downright dying moments.
Filing and warning, sworn in on hollow oaths.
Left hand to right, and rift to drift.
The seemingness endless dream of dreaming things brings silence in the morning and singing in sorrowful times.
Eleven moments, yet none remembered.
Soil underneath fingernails, and the worlds on fire.
Once before, and none the less.
Filing into place, on hollow oaths.
Soul tied and drunk on a wire of memory.
When it breaks, are you done?
Or the same, the same that way, because we know you tried.
Cos I’m the same, any way, any time, any day.
And you pray, and you say that there’s a different way.
But my mind was set on the wire that broke and though you were tired, my eyes were closed.
Closed when you fell, when you hit the ground.
When the soil rippled like water and you moved for a bit.
And my eyes are tired and my lies are mine to keep.
Soul’s tired on broken wires and crushed soil.
soft ascending footsteps can be heard a four miles away in this cold house.
sobered up and the suns beating through the limbs,
brittle, bark flaking off like feathers from a finch.
tiny bits are hanging on, and i focus on one piece.
i’ve carried this house on my back like a turtle’s shell.
and without it, i’d be lost.
but, when you’ve never tried, the worst can’t be the best,
when the best was just found.
like a penny in a wishing well, the sun reflects from the ripples in the water.
reaching down to see if it’s heads up, for good luck.
the water surrounds your hand, skin raised and hair on end,
the pain of being surrounded, by this cold water.
we’d say it’s the last but, we never had a first.
out the door into the night, and i was there alone.
the sheets are soft, but not too soft, not as soft as your skin on mine.
and the time to go home is like a cello playing the saddest song,
in an empty orchestra all, sixty five foot ceilings, irregular.
the chairs show wear and tear, and the emotion makes it hard to breathe.
goddamn the emotion. it is so thick in the room it could swallow you whole.
finding the easiest way out is like finding the hardest way in,
no matter how hard you try you’ll fall in love and someone,
somewhere, will stop loving you.
tiny insects crawl in low grass,
they crawl onto my hand and up my neck.
watching each movement, they lift each leg and feel, before they touch down.
cautious, they must have been tired of traveling alone.
they come in numbers, in lines, and they’d never stray from the path.
we’d say it’s the last but, we never had a first.
the sheets use to be warm, but now they’ve grown cold.
my face hits the pillow like rain on a tin roof.
facing the ceiling, we can’t even get past the first moment before the next one is gone.
brittle bark of the trees we sat underneath, and the calm of morning,
both hold the same innocence as a infant searching for its mother.
never knowing fear, only understanding the feeling of abandonment.
something that’s no longer there,
but not like melting snow, because at least it fades.
not like dreaming of things, those aren’t real.
watching every move I make, but never trying to find someone to follow,
for fear they don’t hold the same respect for direction,
we use to dream in colors, and now we just sleep alone.
waking up without ever feeling the end of anything.
we’d drink up and forget about the work week,
then the night would end,
and my face would hit the pillow like rain on a tin roof.
and i’d search for the warmth, but there’s no finding that here,
not now, but when?
i could just sing songs in the shower, and hope someone’d sing a long,
but the halls are hollow, and the sound could be heard for five miles down these roads.
and the whole time we just wish we would have given a damn.
somehow, and for the life of me I can’t figure out why we couldn’t.
Your hair catches light in the night, and your smile use to turn me upside down.
somehow, for the life of me, I don’t understand why the paths didn’t cross a little bit tighter.
or maybe a little bit stronger.
just another one to you, for me, you were the only one.
and that’s where things ended.
the right things are always due, a minute too early.
and those were just different days.
days we never got to see.
the answers are only mine to find, because you forgot about them before you knew of me.
those were different days.