1. |
Fuckin' Magnets
01:38
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I can feel a cancer growing in my body, not a metaphor for my increasingly awful unbearably stifling worldview, but a literal collection of metastasizing cells turned against their host. What's worse is that i'm starting to enjoy it. Lay in bed and count the space between the chest pains fondly remembering the taste of vomit in my throat from panic attacks before I took hallucinogens.
Like cicadas in a museum, my wings have been pinned down for so long that to pull them out now would be a mistake, a nosedive.
I can see the darkest cloud on my horizon and it looks just like the one thats directly above me it's been hanging there for 10 whole months now. I think that I'll just go back to sleep. It's not like anybody's gonna mind. The end of my world isn't the end of everybody else's. It's a nice day to give up, it's a nicer day to be real mean to the people that all love me.
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2. |
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It's Christmas in Boston, which is the second best season in Boston other than Fall. We're eating Chinese food, getting fucked up on Mai-Tais as the snow comes down. It's one of those nights, where snow quiets streets and you feel like laughing as loud as you can to fill up the city with some kind of sound to remind it that you're still here.
We are shouting at sidewalks.
The frozen stones of the darkened side streets take us behind landmarks of bad dates we had in high school walking around, wondering who'd hold
who's hand first. I used to think my life would end up just like an episode of How I Met Your Mother and I would be Ted. Yeah, it's dumb but sometimes you just want To feel like you're in future looking back.
We are shouting at sidewalks.
We pass the closed clubs we used to see shows in. We pass the places who would serve underage. We pass the train stops we used to meet at. We pass the place I kissed you the first time. We're in the car and your taking me back home. I go back to school tomorrow. You do too. Our timing's as fucked up as I am off cheap rum. The city is empty and so are the two of us.
We're still here.
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3. |
Where's My Premo Selfie?
03:04
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I'm finally old enough to start looking the way that I feel, and it's no surprise that I look like shit. I used to have big plans and the plans turned to hobbies; the hobbies turned to chores. I used to be passionate, now I'm just bored.
My expectations versus my realizations.
We keep on willing ourselves to die. Take another drink, maybe I'll see you on the other side. We got fucked up and did the dumb shit we weren't supposed to. But you're all intact and I'm in pieces.
How am I supposed to help anybody else when I can't even finish a fucking book? Too busy playing hide-and-seek with my anxiety and coming up with new excuses for everything.
So don't even bother trying to help, I don't think I wanna dig myself out.
We keep on willing ourselves to die. Take another drink, maybe I'll see you on the other side. We got fucked up and did the dumb shit we weren't supposed to. But you're all intact and I'm in pieces.
I'm not growing up fast enough; I'm not growing into somebody that I like.
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4. |
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My life is a word I've stared at too much, tried to sound it out so many times its meaningless. Like my recurring nightmare about infinity, where my self-hating thoughts loop together, recursively, reminding me about the nothingness I can't escape. I'm trying to sleep, to ignore, to not wonder why I'm not happy anymore, not that I ever am for long. Everything is bad you're just not looking close enough
The voice in my head is mine, but he speaks a little faster, and yells a little louder, and has an encyclopedic knowledge Of all of my faults, and sets up a slideshow behind my eyes, on nights after days where nothing went right.
There's an alternate timeline version of me, still smoking weed in a parked car, out behind the Target, listening to NOFX through broken speakers watching my friend Andrew roll his own cigarettes. I called him last year on St. Patrick's Day, I left a message, apologized for losing touch. He never got the voicemail, He changed his number years ago. I guess good friends always end up as random numbers.
The voice in my head is mine, but he speaks a little faster, and yells a little louder, and has an encyclopedic knowledge Of all of my faults, and sets up a slideshow behind my eyes, on nights after days where nothing went right.
We've all got those bad friends we always think about.
I think I'm in for some bad times. I'm a broken body, all thumbs and left feet, and I'm feeling like this feeling Is feeling a little too permanent for me to consider it temporary.
We've all got those bad friends we always think about.
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5. |
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I don't fantasize about having sex with anyone when I get like this. When I think of myself in the future there's no one there just a world that's older. 'Cause there's no talisman that I can hold onto tight enough. 'Cause there's no hope for us in this garage.
So keep me company while I summon the courage to ask you to leave.
I wanna be able to laugh at your jokes, like I used to.
There's something going on but I've been standing by the door and waiting to leave. Thinking of the words to tell other people about the things that I have seen, when I should have been upfront and honest, I promise we'll get this right the next time, but I don't think that I can be a person that you can tolerate.
Theses feelings I swallow down, and choke before the notes resolve.
I wanna be able to laugh at your jokes, like I used to.
There's a bitterness to it: no matter how many times I say out loud, "this time I'm gonna do what I gotta do to be the person that I wanna be," it isn't getting any easier to do it.
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6. |
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The jacket I bought at the Salvation Army Can't keep the cold out. The last fifteen bucks to my name Just went to a bus ticket back home. I'm sitting in the station Thinking about all the friends I don't talk to anymore. Ex-girlfriends are settling down with men they like. I think that's nice.
None of my shoes kept the rain out and all of my socks have holes have holes in.
I guess I'm just a little bit tired these days. I'm looking for a nice place to rest my head. And finally get rid of these bags under my eyes. And finally get rid of these bags I'm living out of.
The circles under my eyes are maps of the late nights that we would spend sprawled on front lawns, drowning in liquor, pretending we were friends. My life is a pair of pants my beer gut won't allow me to buttoned up. Why are the only times you feel alive when you're actively trying to die?
We're cutting our hair and shaving our beards. We're getting jobs, staying in on weekend nights.
I guess I'm just a little bit tired these days. I'm looking for a nice place to rest my head. And finally get rid of these bags under my eyes. And finally get rid of these bags I'm living out of.
My bus comes, I grab my baggage, I get on board, is that a metaphor? I don't care. But I suppose everyone has their own Fung Wah bus full of shit heading to nowhere they're waiting to eventually ride away from me.
I guess I'm just a little bit tired these days. I'm looking for a nice place to rest my head. And finally get rid of these bags under my eyes. And finally get rid of these bags I'm living out of.
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Tallboys New York, New York
We're Ryan and Bryan and Marc and sometimes Ricky and sometimes other people and we play songs to people in places and hope they have a good time
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