frmo strum and sung

untitled by interpol

this is the sound of my highschool years wakling in the halls. hair kinda pulled under thep utka, clothes tight to the skin, and looking all around kinda paranoid and spazzed out. walking around from class to class but feeling super withdrawn, with the putka drawn tight against the skin of my head. just walking around the school and just keeping to myself.

its the sound of sitting in my apartment with like, not a whole hell of alot going on, whilst i was like sitting in frames, and perhaps with a beer, maybe a 24 pack, and just sitting listening to music, maybe staring into a computer screen, and maybe like, just complately bored. and there just wasnt a whole hell of alot going on at the time. but yeah. like there just didnt seem to be a whole hell of alot going for me back then. skinny, getting girls, but hating myself, and writing great music, but having it all be more or less consumed with dark feelings and thoughts. so i kept myself alone, as few people dared to brave the world i inhabited.

its like the sound of music playing in the dorm room over in Morrison tower in Ohio State whilst i was a Freshman, sitting by myself because those other kids moved away, couldnt stand me, so they said, and so i was alone, in my room, with my thoughts. I'd just cut my hair and my family was just not at all pleased, I was basically alone, and feeling terribly depressed. Like I wasn't in england, I had a shitty time @ school, and i beleived half of what i was told, and the other half i just threw away and had nothing left. just me alone in my room watching... donnie darko.

and then the walks around town and stuff while we tried to find a place to go to. jackets tight to the skin, szipped up, with the snow perhaps falling, cold night air, breathing out and watching fog, all in the pursuit of like alcohol. and girls. and just hating myself. its those sorts of thoughts that i remember back when i was younger than these songs seem to kinda bring me back to. walking around in scotland, enjoying it but feeling a ltitle out of place. noone really kinda got me there. and the air cold and the jacket close to my skin, rushing to get home with the beer in hand, looking forward to watching the television.

sitting by the window in harrison by myself watching the skyscrapers and stuff, it was the music of my life then, back when i thought i was just a piece of shit. i cant believe i did, but there were prolonged periods where i just thought i was a piece of shit. fter all why not. its what my aunts told me. i had no functional friends. from jacob, to allen, to kirby, to vivek, all these substance using and dependant folks, who had no futures and despair in their eyes, but vehemently defended their right to be so. walking around, romanticizing the lifestyle, hedonism in pursuit of artistic moments and people, but too shy to introduce yourself.

living alone in neil out in the city going out to bars and meeting people, biker chicks and all sorts getting attracted to me, my dark demeanor, and other things. they felt like hey, perhaps he's down and out, maybe i should toy with him. but they were afraid to get too close. instinct told them to back away. attracted to the bad boy, but then like... brushed aside. curiosity brought them to me, but by the end of the night they were history. i was after all in the grips of something.

NYC by interpol

the sound of defeat. sitting back in an armchair with beer, and kirby. sitting, watching smoke waft up. sitting in a den of drink and smoke, drug and sex. but rarely getting any human touch. the kid beside me was a crazed lunatic. perhaps he just got drunk, cried about his past, and sobered up. now we sit, and share a moment of quiet. those rough nights were how we spent our time. take to the streets, roam around, aimless, but in our own world, and in that, things were beautiful. the streets, lights, people, things, all blended into one great cacophany. and this was our life.

sitting with vivek in the apartment, where we would just play music and talk from couches and he'd dance. we'd talk about parties and sometimes go. his friends would show and i'd get the hots for 'em. we'd smoke up and trade songs. he showed me the best song he ever wrote. and beer, with some laughter, and friendship. we had companions then, lauren and i, we kept each other company. those were the good days. in the middle of the drugs, with a person there in arms reach, to talk to, to kiss. to walk with. to drive with. just exclaiming the sun was beautiful today. these things we fell into as our lives fell apart and we were left with drink drug sex and each other.

and the nights we spent together, the days of longing for her, and the never asking, but always going out ot hang out, and getting heartbroken every time she'd leave without me, but rearing to put myself right back there the next day. the addiction of it. the bliss of it. those were the days.

pda by interpol

and then there were the parties, with her friend. sometimes with strangers. always strangers. smokes, beers. always there. even amongst the weirdos friends, i was the weirdo. this was my msuci. the days of arcade fire and susan. people whose names scape me. days at the dube, the smoking, coke, weed, drink. the music. ever flowing. artsty living in a drugged out haze. each day a marvelous risk. and never knowing what would come, but never with expectation. sometimes we'd long, and we'd never go too far, only what felt right. and when the bliss of it was gone, when i was willing to go through the pain of growth, they werent, and the things all broke apart.

and the shows we did, once at the... something. back in the day. we did the shsiah. with the kid vivek once met. he was a smiley kid, i nver was. but he had the charisma to talk us into anything. unless he was on something. in which case he got teary eyed and fighty. that got us kicked out of a place. the open mic guy still sits there today. i know he remembers because he had to throw the guy out. i think i called him on it, but then, maybe not. he's scum. but i remember that day, he was just on a drug, trying to play teh piano, and that guy took the piss on him. what an asshole. just what an asshole.

and alurens friend the comic enthusiast with the apartment and the drug problem. he came back from the war, and was doing coke. he'd sit us around his wooden table. i went out moodily and she came out too. we walked and talked, she told me she didnt love me, and that i probably didnt love her either. what a sadness that spurred. i just fell deep into it. and i dont think i came out for a long time. what a fucking girl to ask me to doubt myself. what are we if we cant trust our own feelings. but she was a drug fiend and i was a freak, a loner, and a druggie though i'd never admitit. writing my songs, and she fucking her way to glory.

and then vivek as he lay in the coffin with my friend acting like a jackass but there he was the guy i spent a year with who showed me the world who i loved as a brother who i actually ohesnt to god actually loevd but there he was dead with his farther teary eyed.

say hello to the angels by interpol

and then the shows id go to sometimes great othertimes just killers of the eardrums. but those were teh days we'd spend out there on the streets just doing whatever we felt we had to. whatever moved us. money tied to us by our parents, we had no worries but girls and trying to impress the next one with a song, would we ever be gerat, these were the thoughts on our mind. never confident, and always full of possibility. perhaps those things are part and parcel. but we'd go out, and there were so many girls, so many of them that wanted a piece of me, that i wanted a piece of. so many. that kid who i found lying on the ground shot up and passed out. and ihelped 'em back to the room, and what a prequel to vivek. telling me sotries abou thorses sold for drugs. i took it all in.

shirley, tora, joelle, so many people. the drive to her house. then the deal with amber. the times out at frambes. carla and the bolivia trip. so many things. the time out with kristen, who i spent so long with, perhaps longing for her, always howing up but never getting any. i guess thats a pattern. but i had her out and she was a twat. got rid of her. but yeah. those were the days. go out, long, go home, empty handed, and beg for another round of it the next day. i think they caught on, at least lauren, she told me. but i never admitted. always so haedstrong. but maybe she was right. i'd never admit it of course. too headstrong.

and the drunken party in the room where i got my cut. lifes been a party since 2003. and stopped being so in 06. but for what reason. have i grown enough to be able to live better than i did when i was younger. can my body take the abuse. and will i regret letting myself loose.