3o something

'just look at it this way: it took my brother 8 years to figure things out. 8 years! he's almost 30.'
i looked away, then i looked back. 'no he's not.'
'yeah he is. he's 26. well, he's gonna be 26.'
'that's nowhere near 30.'
'yes it is.'
'well what does that make us then? 25?'
'yeah.' pause. [retrospective for the not-so-distant statement.] 'we're almost 30.'

Glass Jaws

i stopped at a green light today.
hey, don't honk at me, asshole...

...oh.

Aliens

we're young.
we hop borders, we abuse our health.
(hey, i'll drink to that!)

Coffee And Corpses

'have you ever held cremated human remains? i think they're called 'cremains.' '
'i have not!'
'well, let me say this: they're a lot heavier than you'd think!'

(i love coffee.)

Sewerage

and it's not done,
but the song is.
(your song?)

Passive

passive, feet stuck in the mud/sand.

true story: last week at this time, i sat at the end of a driveway in south carolina with my best friend. the kind of best friend that not everyone has, the kind of best friend that everyone wants, the kind of best friend that loves you and tells you you're a good person no matter how many one-night stands you pretend you didn't have, no matter how many married men you've kissed, no matter anything. that kind of best friend. this is all arbitrary, but she's my best friend.

cheap bottles of wine, i saw a shooting star. we talked louder than the alcohol warranted just to see if he'd come out of his house. we thought about flipping the four-wheeler earlier that day: she says i'm not good at playing the damsel in distress. i say: i'm living it.
maybe he'll come out, maybe we'll get high in the woods, maybe we'll have some fun, the atlantic isn't enough and we need some more secrets. hey man, we're here, we're vulnerable.

then i tell this guy over coffee that i have a problem or two, and he changes my life. it's not the action or event, it's your opinion of it. love's not real, only the way you see it. change your opinion, change everything.

all at once, we're in complete control.

mahmoud and i played this game once: as a final goodbye, let's tell each other how we really feel.
what i said wasn't important, because nothing ever is.
his: "you are too passive, you're all talk. you won't amount to anything."

while 85% of that may be true,
i must say that the sand feels really good between my toes.

Pull One Excuse From Another

i don't have the heart to tell my mother that i don't like her chili.
[now, in the deep and down.]


i remember meeting you that night, in your car.
i remember seeing your face for the first time since...
and thinking, you are still beautiful.
you tasted the same. (can we change our taste? how's that for table talk?)

the grass was wet. the dirt was dry. i remember seeing your face for the first time since...

i don't mean to undermine all that i stand for,
but i fear i was doomed to write teenage epics.

(thank you. you're welcome.)

'are we pretending to be unhappy?'
'no. it's real. but i really, really liked that movie.'

'music is my worst enemy. songs about drugs, sex, and alcohol warrant all of my actions.'
'we. are. not. having. this. conversation.'

i'm sorry; i had a feeling you were right.