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.... and waste some time on the roller coaster ride, but you said it's too dangerous to lead an empty life... and I hate to hear all those sweet words just go to waste, but honey they're a little weak - a little weak for my taste.
And thus zoraster spake.
When you left, you took all memory of me with you, and now like the air I'm blowing and blowing....
American Music Club is like bjork to me - a complex artist with whom I can grow - I think I referenced this feeling in an earlier post (this IS the doctorate course on kristen martin for chissakes - let's keep up on our reading).
What a lame sentence above.
If I've been praying a lot lately, it's because I no longer have a tv... just a fluorescent hangover to watch the things you say and the things I do...
Sorry, they were going a bit fast for me to transcribe... I tend to make up lyrics on my own. I truly suck at turning a phrase except generally, I'm better whence faded.
Or is that a myth?
American Music Club is more complicated than bjork. Unlike bjork who I met in Amy King's mustang convertible (god such good times) when I was fifteen and amy and adele were into the sugarcubes.
I met American Music Club when I was 22 and living in the depths of my first real depression (who knew roses and a purpose weren't waiting for me at the end of my college years - such hopes I was led to expect as a labeled genius - but ahhhh I digress).
Kent introduced me. Do you remember Kent dear reader? I am quite curious if there are any kristenophiles left from my old column? Do you remember me? Am I a character that you kow as well as spiner-femmes know Data?
Kent introduced me to American Music Club. Kent was my first soulmate.
As john lennon said better than I, he was a bit of an artist boy who loved me and would slightly open his right vein on a wine-fueled night and declare fucked-up love for me (a lifelong quest dear reader, however, now I have learned that I must love the other person as well - not just collect beautiful red ruby scalps.)
AMC (and we just missed weezer's 'say it ain't so' while i've been typing, now random has presented faultline's 'your love mean's everything part dos' - which I have rewinded) got me through the pain of sitting on kent's floor and having my soul have a reckoning.
Kent had dumped me (although for any new reader, kent and I were to have much more - and revenge was sad and horrible.... you see I didn't love him when he finally got it and loved me. And nothing so horrible had happened to me. ((odd, I can't put into words what it was.)). ).
American Music Club got me through. Unlike bjork, I haven't really liked any of their albums since (aside from that one that says 'we're empty as hell and already dead'). But ahhhh, I can listen to the one album (forgot name) and always feel a comrade in arms.
Anyhoo, I actually was going to start with a bust on myself, and give that ever elusive example of passive aggressive.
I awoke at 8:30 am. Mark was as quiet as a churchmouse. Then, as i was doing the morning pee, he got up and fiddled with his computer. My comment? my passive aggressive zinger that I thought up whilst peeing?
If I had known you were going to wake up when I did, I would have slept longer.
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