'cause happy and sad come in quick succession

Bled White
Elliott Smith
listen
i'm a color reporter (rose city on the 409)
but the city's been bled white (white city on the yellow line)
and the doctor orders (drinking till he's trashed is just a waste of time)
he drinks all night to take away this curse
but it makes me feel much worse

so i wait for the f-train (white city on the yellow line)
and connect through a friend of mine (white city to a friend of mine)
to a yesterdaydream (yesterday a dream was just a waste of time)
'cause i'll have to be high to track the sunset down
and paint this pailing town

so here he comes with a blank _expression
especially for me 'cause he knows
i feel the same
'cause happy and sad come in quick succession
i'm never going to become
what you became

don't you dare disturb me (don't complicate my peace of mind)
while i'm balancing my past (don't complicate my peace of mind)
'cause you can't help or hurt me (the anger, being mean was just a waste of time)
like it already has, it may not seem quite right
but i'm not fucked, not quite

bled white
bled white

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Written originally on 4.6.09, but not posted until 4.10.009)


Haven't written in here in a while.

Nothing dreadful has occurred, nor has anything particularly stupendous.

Life goes on, doesn't it?

Rainy dreary day in NYC. Listening to Elliott, on repeat. A perfect companion to the day. What a beautiful man, in ways that are/were not readily apparent. What a sad man, in ways that were all too easy to see.

But I digress. This isn't about Elliott, this is about me.

Life is relatively fine. I've met some cool people recently, people who have made me feel *alive* and vibrant. It's nice. It certainly is a contrast to other aspects of my life, where I sometimes feel for lack of a better term, like "dead weight".

I've been toying with being more "open" in this blog...but I'm not entirely sure I can or should be. Too much to say and too many potential repercussions. At the same time I really dislike being cryptic. Were you to meet me in person, I'd hope that you would find that I'm a pretty damn open book. Add to this, my having always sorted through issues by writing about them, and I feel that I have some pretty compelling reasons to want to write less obliquely.

I need to think about it.

There's a lot I need to think about and figure out.

don't you dare disturb me (don't complicate my peace of mind)
while i'm balancing my past (don't complicate my peace of mind)
'cause you can't help or hurt me (the anger, being mean was just a waste of time)
like it already has, it may not seem quite right
but i'm not fucked, not quite

No, not fucked, not quite.



Image by Aeric M. Goujon, October 2007