This is a day of blurry edges. Everything out of focus, sliding in and out of each other too smoothly. Like when you’re slightly drunk. Though right now you’re completely sober, and you’ve never been more parched for something you cannot name.
A day for spinning skies.
this is a day of crisp red wine and cheap romance novels and lying in bed trying not to think about the dirty laundry. And all the other things you should be doing. A day of indie music and carefully made mixes playing through badly balanced speakers. A day of itchy nose and not-shaven legs and bad TV shows. A day that tightens all of the seams in your skin and you pray really hard no thread will break and leave a gaping hole in the middle of your back for all the world to see.
It is a day of closed-off spaces and for biting the inside of your cheeks and possibly paint your nails a garish color that will clash with your bedspread.
A day where you can’t decide if you want to be too quiet or too loud and despair that you can’t, somehow, be both at the same time.
It’s just a day where you don’t feel particularly angry, but are scared that if someone talks to you you might end up biting their head off anyway.
And really, you just wish you were wittier and can’t help but daydream about sexy encounters with strangers.
(we used to go to the beach most summers. One week or two. On the coast of Maine. I have fond memories of it. And I miss the ocean)
New 8tracks mix: She Bop
- Hands // Alpine
- The Cigarette Duet // Princess Chelsea
- Somebody That I Used to Know // Gotye
- Freebirds // Lover Lover
- Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now // The Smiths
- She Bop // Cyndi Lauper
- Youth Knows No Pain // Lykke Li
- Black & Blue // Tilly & The Wall
- Oh! You Pretty Things // David Bowie
- Melancholy Sky // Goldfrapp
a mix that is very much about how I feel now. Or how I would like to feel. Or a bit of both. I never can quite decide with all that longing inside of me, always.
this is a day of lukewarm cups of tea, and lying on your stomach half-reading a book, half letting your mind wander. A day of snacks and no real meal, and foghorns in the distance and scratchy pencil lines. A day of slight discomfort in your own skin, like it’s too tight under your arms, and bitten lips. A day where the music you play pulls at the corners of you and makes you dream of other days where you might run barefoot on dirty roads, or dip your toes in swampy lakes.
A day where you can’t even fathom the ways you are suppose to stretch yourself into the world.
And thank god, it’s a day where you don’t have to talk to anybody, because you can barely contain your own universe in your throat.
(what can you do, with days like these?)
Me & Brother (most probably Summer 1992)
We’re all grown up now, he and I.
My skin hasn’t been able to take that color again, since the sickness, but maybe it will again one day. He’s tall now. Taller than me. With piercings and tattoos and darker skin and large broad shoulders.
I miss this house, where the picture was taken. Childhood house. I miss the house more than I miss what we were then.