"You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed"

Not my fathers son
"It is the time you have spent with your rose that makes your rose so important"
the mistake we make when we grow older is that we promise our children that the world is theirs, that the world is beautiful, and we neglect to tell them that the world is as full as much shit as there is flowers and it's their job to make it theirs, amidst all the shit they have to shovel and push through.
i'm never to sure about anything, anyone.

subtle but smooth.

anyway you look at it, I think the path chosen yields the most fruit.
even if it doesn't bless me with money, or fame.
I think the music made in basements, and the words written and pictures painted on white walls mean more to me than any green faced dead president. its all about the experience, the fucking moment where you realize that you're surrounded by people who THINK, who FEEL, the SAME way you might think and feel but even in this realization its the notion that for once in your life you belong.
Growing up is the easiest and the hardest thing to do.
im going through my closet and throwing away everything I use to be. I'm throwing away (rather donating old clothes) and I don't care if they're expensive or if i'll grow into them these clothes aren't me, this room isn't me I want to sleep on the floor. I want my bed on the floor, these posters are old I don't need them I want to paint this room a shade of blue instead of a whiter shade of pale , dark blue not a royal blue because even if its sad its fucking more epic and tell-tale than any generic red and blue.
i came back and was immediately greeted by a friend, it makes me all weird inside to realize that friendship might really last lifetimes. I know it's my mantra "Friendship lasts a lifetime" but i'd be lying if I said I believe in it. I don't believe in like i should but I guess today I believe in it a little more.
Change comes in waves not mountains. I'm almost at the top, I just have to keep moving this along. I've been doing so much thinking lately and I haven't drank but I've smoked and I see things totally different then how I have before I started thinking about life and eternal return and what it means to really "live" and if the shit I do now is living then what did I do before? Have I been wasting time? I've been wasting so much of it on bullshit and now that I'm in whatever epic state of change I've managed to fall into what will I do to keep living and loving and breathing and fucking doing something worth the insult of time I've been given?

I've got to get up, get out and do something.

It's always darkest right before the light starts bursting through.
Even now it sneaks through the sky, slowly lighting up sections of the city. If I was back home right now I'd be tossing in bed trying to avoid whatever sunray is trying to beam in the eye. I use to be a morning person. Now I just don't sleep at all.
I'm dreaming of sneaking my way through doorways. I get nervous when I get this close. Cigarette smoke hurts.
Calm down, Charlie brown. Singing those blues that bring me to you, typing at the keyboard with nothing to do but listen to Radiohead and read books and debate if going to sleep now will be productive. Breakfast in 30 minutes. I figured out if you can live through the night you can make it in the morning. I've got a heartworm and it fertilizes a lot. Walking (s)hit taker but sometimes the words hurt more than the punch. Mom saw the ex-girlfriend on the train supposedly. Realized that home as in the arms of an ex isn't applicable anymore. I shrugged and hung up the phone. Too many goodbye notes on my arm and not enough space between my head and the wall. I am bad news bears. HEART OF BRONZE. Not gold. not copper. Just bronze. No alchemy can make this shine.
my heart use to beat in my chest. now it just sits in my bed.

she said "I'm praying for a thunderstorm"
sometimes the sound of someones voice pans in and out, like a song, coming and going from left and right until it resonates in your head. Maybe it's a sad song, or a slow roar, or maybe it's that lullaby you keep praying for that never comes until you stop looking for it. By now I think I'm about to cry so I wipe my eyes for a moment
"It's way too fucking cold."
a cover-up of words. everyone does it, me included. I don't smoke but the grey clouds keep making my eyes burn, on top of whatever tears that want to fall I can't concentrate. I don't have a drink in my hands, not that i'd need one. I just need to breathe-