important late night brain vomit to an old friend////i’m sorry
i don’t even know what insomnia looks like anymore. the static is familiar, and day and night now just fuse together into one steady drone. the images i want to make settle under my tongue until i can’t say them out loud. i can write the words down, but they just scramble in front of the lens.
everybody is going blonde for the winter, baptizing themselves with bleach to keep it away from their lips. my shoes are soaked from the temporary thaw, and in yellow it’s easy to fake spring.
the oldies station doesn’t come in at this hour. past 10pm, other frequencies start to interfere, “different drum” fading into enthusiastic Spanish and failing to cut back in. i feel very present and aware of my age as i slouch over the precipice. you perfected the modern love potion, puke and tears smoldering in the bottom of a metal wastebasket. incantations whispered into chest-hugging knees. the warmth of fingers summoned private, affectionate words, and the fickle heart painted them on the cheeks of others. i am trying to keep my eyes from drifting, focusing on spots on walls that evoke only paint and plaster. avoidance of connection, all the world becomes peripheral, and I drink another beer to forget that I had dreams last night.
Strung out staring at dropped ceiling. If I scribbled my brainwaves on old notes and hid them up there, would they keep me awake anymore? I want to hear a familiar voice, but they’re overseas or plains or not familiar anymore. I’m too afraid to ask why everything is different now. I guess I just miss too much.
i am dumbfounded on a sea cliff, in an awkward place between midnight and dawn. the static behind my eyes is now more like a drone.
potential contributions to the body of work that will decide whether or not i win at college.
Minden Christmas time, the 20 year old light displays sit beneath the water tower and are bright enough to illuminate the quarter mile stretch of brick road that still remains downtown. The town is dry, the neighborhoods turn in early. Teenagers fire bottle rockets at each other in the fairground parking lot. On warm nights, young lovers drink on Sallie Baker’s grave in hopes of feeling something real.
The Music Tapes’ Traveling Imaginary
Portland, OR - Mission Theater
7 May 2013
Shot on black and white film.
Enjoy the return of Sad Kids Club, The Miscreant video series. This episode features Meagan talking about her favorite band Bright Eyes, the reasons she loves Conor Oberst’s lyrics, and songs that mean the most to her. This video was filmed in her room earlier this summer in Syracuse.
This sad girl is me.
I know I’ve been absent for a while. I’ve been quietly working on things. I don’t have internet in my apartment. I sold my bike when I was back in Oregon and bought a banjo. I’m re-writing old songs, and writing new songs. I hope to release a cassette by the beginning of August, once I replace my tape recorder. All of the cassette boxes are hand-printed by me. This song was recorded on my phone. It’s just a placeholder.