We've Got A Groovey Thing Goin'

I like the way certain songs always remind me of some people. Like how Chasing Cars reminds me of Swami, and the 6 months I spent at Mnemonique's. Everytime I hear it I remember the white, white walls of her house, and the shitty old computer, and the confusion that surrounded 2006. And that one time I cried while listening to Swami play the guitar over the phone. It was 8 in the night when that happened, I think. I remember it was dark out, anyway.

And Could Be Anything Else always reminds me of Pot. My head always does the left-to-right, right-to-left bop when I listen to The Eames Era. I can still feel the stupid crazy grin on my face as we bopped in time to the music playing on the earphones on the way back home from Spanish class. And how we laughed like we were on crack when we realized people were giving us funny looks from their cars. On a sidenote, that song still doesn't make sense to me.

Then there's The Rain Song. Yowza. That one reminds me of Rach and us sitting in her room in the nighttime, with a solitary candle that was stationed between us for light. And the black box that she used to keep her cigarettes in, all locked up and safe. Before she put the song on she said 'Don't talk. Just listen.' and so I did. She had her eyes shut and she lay back on the floor, and she took long drags from her cancerstick every so often. Her hands were shaking when the song ended.

And Faggot will ALWAYS be Medha. Jesus. I still remember that first time she told me about it. "DUDE, there's this kickass new song that I have, me and Deb keep listening to it man, it's so fucking funny, the chorus goes like 'Faggotfaggotfaggotfaggot!' yesterday, me and Deb were listening to it and screaming only that bit out- mostly because we don't know the rest of the lyrics, but YEAH!" And then she told me about that damn song some TEN times. That's not including the number of times I heard her telling someone else about it when I was around. Moronus. Medha listens to some freakay shite, she does. Gotta admit though, that faggotfaggotfaggot bit is some fun :P

And oooh. Sewn, Sewn, Sewn. Reminds me of The Boy. The feeling of his forehead pressed against mine as we swayed to the music. How he showed off his kickass speakers saying 'SEE dude, you should have speakers like these too, not the shitty tiny ones you currently have attached to your computer!' Bum. The sound of his even breathing as he slept in my arms. The way he gently ran his knuckles down my cheek every so often. Pretty song, Sewn.

On a random note, Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm by the Crash Test Dummies is so weird. I mean, the scenarios they come up with, man. The lyricist clearly had a very jobless, very very active imagination. Putput introduced me to this song, said it was real nice and all that. There was this one time I was coming home from Mnemonique's, and the radio was on, and I heard the RJ say "this next one goes out to Kita, from P, it's this lovely track called Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm by the Crash Test Dummies" and I was all 'who-sa what-ah?! Putput dedicated a track to Pot on the RADIO?!' cause he's the only one who calls her Kita. Turned out to be as untrue as blue being the new pink, but anyway. That was one helluva coincidence, methinks.

It is now 12.24 in the AM. I used to be able to stay up till 0300 without batting an eyelash, man. Now I get sleepy at 2100 and can't wake up till 0700hrs.

Pooh, anyway. I'm gonna stop this post here. I'm tyred. And The Mamas & The Papas are telling y'all to Dream A Little Dream of Me.
Run along, now.
Buenas noches, mis amigos.

Dude, come ON.

Y'all could ATLEAST leave a COUPLE of comments, y'know. This lack of attention and encouragement is very demotivating and sadmaking. Hmph.

And suddenly, it hit me.

Walking around in my oversized shirt, watching you cook lunch while you were still in the boxers and t-shirt that you slept in.











Cliches are awesome.

You're Toxic, I'm slippin' Under!

Yes, I know what you're going to say, I should go kill myself, loser britney loving fangirl yadayadayada but fuck you people, Toxic is CATCHY OKAY?! Y'all are just elitists. Pfft.
Plus, I've been listening to different versions of it- so now I have an indie version, a clubby version, and a metal version on loop. I still like the original best though. Yael Naim's version is really hard to sing. Bloody soprano.


Any, any.
I'm trying to figure out how exactly I'm supposed to update y'all on all that's been happening lately. It's all been so insane and fast paced. I swear, I've NEVER had this much fun falling for a boy. All the other boys I've liked never understood the importance of romance, ya know? But then, nobody else has the- how did he put it- felicity of expression that he does. Felicity is such a nice word. I like the staccato feel it has.
He invariably ends up using words I really like.
But then, maybe I'm just biased. Teeheehee.


You know, for a change, I think I quite like the fictionpress-yness of everything right now. It's all so...nice and happy-making. For me, anyway.

You Make My Head Soft.

"I hate the way you talk to me, and the way you cut your hair. I hate the way you drive my car. I hate it when you stare. I hate your big dumb combat boots, and the way you read my mind. I hate you so much it makes me sick; it even makes me rhyme. I hate it, I hate the way you're always right. I hate it when you lie. I hate it when you make me laugh, even worse when you make me cry. I hate it when you're not around, and the fact that you didn't call. But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you. Not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all."