January 5, 2004

• (When you say my name, I want to split it from your lips and hide like whispers in the rain. When you say my name, I want to stop it in your lungs and collect all of your blood, to put in the radio.¹)
  One song, over and over. I do this more than I'd like to admit. Compulsively listening to a single song for hours, days, on end². Every wordless tint and hue of feeling expressed through 4 minutes of sound. Amazing, isn't it?
  I've been longing for it again. The piercing whine of six string feedback, the felt-more-than-heard tones coming from the four strings under my fingers. The thump coming through the pick ups as the guitar hits my hips in the midst of my particular on stage psychotic episode. The bruises on my hip bones the next morning. The sore fingers and hands from physically forcing, jamming, cramming, pounding, beating my feelings through nickel wound wires. The hoarse throat and fucked voice from screaming along with or without a microphone.
  I want to be exhausted, sweaty, nerves raw, fingers bleeding, every fucking ounce of passion I have spent.
  I want to make music again.

  1.
  Thursday - Signals Over The Air
  If i keep holding my breath, all of this will fade away. If you keep driving we'll be lying in the wreck.
  Changing the shape, folding like an envelope to keep each other in. Shattered glass, broken looks, and mascara gets washed away by windshield wiper blades.
  When you say my name, I want to split it from your lips and hide like whispers in the rain. When you say my name, I want to stop it in your lungs and collect all of your blood, to put in the radio.

  2.
  Songs I've been compulsively listening to:
  Blossom - The 101
  Signals Over The Air - Thursday

  • 10:20 pm
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