urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:opumeyer i wish i was a child of the 60's i wish i was a child of the 60's 2006-09-12T22:58:12Z urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:opumeyer:1532 2006-09-12T06:25:28Z 2006-09-12T22:58:12Z Bob Dylan's new cd ...11:11 and the bedroom walls feel colder than they ever have been. As the moon rests on the ocean I become my father's failures. I just want to be back in San Francisco with you laughing, singing, and loving. Let's listen to Dylan and believe that we can do no wrong. The drugs I'm taking are no longer working, darling. Let's snort some more pills and choke on our memories because I fear no new ones will be there. No matter how hard I cleanse, softsoap cannot wash away my unhappiness. No matter how hard I try, I cannot rid you of my life. I miss elementary school and the girl who would wear a dress and have a flower in her hair... urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:opumeyer:1036 2006-04-09T12:42:34Z 2006-09-12T06:29:53Z The Strokes "Heart in a Cage" …it’s a memory of death and the entrance tile feels colder than it ever has been. I walk the lonesome murky hallway over to the computer and stare at a blank screen; now, it’s before the break of day and I’m feeling courageous. Sadly, why won’t you wait for me? Drugs are our own best friend. Last night’s drugs are this day’s agonizing reminder of my poor discretion. I make revisions about leaving and heading to the city. There is plenty worth parting and there will be greeting. The city will resuscitate happiness in my life. Now, like her love for me my cares are quickly fleeting because skin soft loneliness sweetheart shows care. She claims that it’s easier with the lights off and I maintain that without tall buildings falling would only be a game and that without dirty pavements touching wouldn’t be a dream. Yes, they don’t feel what I feel and this fills me with regret, this sorrowfulness is truly getting the best. So, don’t teach me a lesson that I’ve already learned. If I could just speak up, have the gallantry and the decency to tell the truth I think that I would say… urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:opumeyer:608 2006-03-21T14:27:06Z 2006-03-26T06:17:24Z We Are Scientists …6 a.m. and the kitchen tile feels colder than it ever has been. As I sit on top of the counter and stare off down the hallway my eye manages to catch a glimpse of the worn out cabinets. I begin to reflect upon my life and the idea strikes me harder than a cold shower on a winters night. It seems that many have spoken to me under the guise of friendship and some relationships have been built around a pretense. Oh the sorrow this causes me. No truth seems true. I am so exhausted from life, yet ironically enough sleep is hard to come by. As if the universe is disdainfully mocking me. I look forward to seeing her on Wednesday; my heart explodes with excitement from the thought of spending time with her. She is the only real one in my life. On the other hand, my mother and I are once again not getting along as she is being belligerent towards me. Oddly, things seem relatively well with my father; oh how quickly their roles do change. urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:opumeyer:490 2006-03-14T13:02:56Z 2006-03-26T06:17:44Z Arctic Monkeys S.F. show from earlier It’s 5 a.m. and the bathroom tile feels colder than it ever has been. I'm feeling very despondent and alone. The reflection in the mirror divulges the dire truth; I cannot hide the misery it shows. “Is everything alright, is home normal?” she asked. I'm afraid not, dear...I'm afraid not. Unfortunately, I now grasp that life is a joke that I'm not in on. It’s just a punch line with a lack of a set up. Nevertheless, how funny can it possible be when the punch line is death? I suppose it's all obsolete, oh how I digress. Now, today is no exception. My life is jaded, cheap, and trite. No one disagrees how stale I’ve become; no brilliance will ever come out of me. My beauty subsists within you. I’m being candid when I write that home is no longer where I live; it is only where I rest. My body feels the sorrows and the joys of the universe. My heart is made of wood and has already begun to splinter. All that will be left is a sliver…