Shitty Indie Music

Was a search keyword used in finding my blog. This absolutely amuses me.

Because I may be an emo sack of shit, but I can still laugh at myself. Now, this post breaks formula from the tone of this journal. But I figured the fact that seeing those search words actually made me laugh out loud and clap my hands frantically warranted a shout-out.

Fucking Russians.

And on that note...



"Because every day, it's getting tougher to shoot straight."

Give my love to Finland?

If I ran away from home, it would be there.

Somewhere cold, but bright. With lilting accents and strong tall sinewy males, how could I resist? Ice blue eyes and long fingered hands, cold from outside but touching my face, slipping between the buttons of my blouse...

I want to gnash my teeth against a ribcage. But for the first time in a long time, not to rend. Softer emotions are filling me, plush and safe feeling. It's incredibly strange.

Maybe I'm just not as unhappy when it snows....I love my lungs burning. The crunching of my booted feet, the simple textures of winter fill me with crackling electricity. And longing.

Spinsterood and bitterness....and nonsensical requirements.

Is it wrong for me to pine for a home? Because I do. One with high windows, and natural light far from the city. And filled with the smells of a shirt that hasn't been washed. Or shaggy hair on a pillowcase, whiskey and saliva and warmth.

Moon's milk spills from my unquiet skull...

Maybe I listen to too much depressing Icelandic electronic music. Or too much Edward Ka Spel, with his charming psychedelic slight speech impediment. It moves me, flutters my insides.
But I need those fairy voices and glitch beats, those weaving hypnotic melodies with their cryptic lyrics that send bolts of lightning down my spine. It sounds to me like the inside of my slick skull cavity.
I need it to ground me, to keep myself from floating away.

Because every time I look at him, I have to fight to be good. To be right, and to be prudent. Because my marrow and my heart pulse pounding and his chemicals all pull me to him. And he is not mine, or for me.

But still my fingers clutch and grasp, and my heart bends almost to the point of breaking.

On your shore...

If wishes were fishes...I still wouldn't eat fish.

Before everything went to shit...

Mostly I wish well for you...

Except when I pray that your relationship crumbles. When I hope and squint and fantasize about how you would actually love me...

You would smell the place where my neck and shoulder meet, and I would shiver. You would trace a finger up the side of my arm, just enough to give me goosebumps...
And when you slept I could hear the cadence of your breathing pattern, and sigh and love you.

But what is love without sacrifice? Because if it exists I have not encountered it.