the sun is more yellow in california
[ it probably makes no sense ]
[ actually.... it definitely makes NO sense ]
[ its called brain goo. or something ]
remember that time that i went to california.
when you walk out into the air there you feel like you're back on Charlemagne again. there's a smell and im not even kidding. you have to believe me. there really is. and you feel the peace of a slower race. a race nonetheless.
i know.
but slower.
and you always want to light up... even though you dont smoke. maybe bc this place reminds you of linda. so the nearest dolche and gabana boy from westwood will help. how appropriate on both sides of the trip.
sometime i wonder if im just afraid to compete. so i just dont... fear of loss. fear of inevitable rejection because of my lack of income and naturally altered and injected good looks.
im ambitious. but this field of self efficacy is holding me back. i dont think that i could be successful. i dont even take risks. i tell myself that i do. but a risk would require possible failure. so we stear clear of that here.
california was full of hipsters and i now know that i am no different in my differences. and then i realize that i need a different field to excell in. one with no other people. but there are so many people in fields by themselves that we all end up being togehter.
flaps in the air so whisper to me the story about that man with the weight and about flipping over handle bars. screen this show. screen this into a burned cd.
i want to sew all of this into me so deep that all seam rippers will be at a loss. what to do what to do they will ask themselves. we have lost her to the other side. coast upon coast, shouting for her attention but we know where this little bike lane ends.
a place where she does somer saults and realizes that it never even made a difference.
it
never
even
made
a
difference
chelsie. david.
tubes deflate like my lie.
theres this big lie that you can be convinced of if you say it over and over and over and over again.
some sentence that contains the words: good. really. connecticut. and/or new england.
but then theres that old thing that sounds occassionally. the wise philosophy of a man with a band that we hate to like.
telling my 7th grade concerts in the shower that it doesnt ever matter where you are. that its who you are with.
i see myself in south no-wheres-place.
im happy
i have funny friends.
a respected guy figure that likes to take pictures. and read the bible
i am happier than i was when i lived in that apartment in laguna. that summer was so anticlimactic.
bianchi. or anything because i want to ride a bike so i feel like im somewhere else.
unhealthy. what of it.
flee from the nothingness that is here.
i thought about packing up the people. stow aways and relocating them. i would be there and have the people to go with it.
mosaic was nice. and the boy saw these shoes and thought more of me because of it. sad. i left and flew downhill. the whole way... pedling fast with sacred hands lifted high.. off the bars.
at least we've narrowed this all to the west coast.
one day our tubes decided to reject air. decided to break apart over and over. silly little bikes. and so: funniness on chelsies bike
holding on tight. so tight. out of control. bangs. elbows and legs. and i was smiling.
i am so like everyone else. its sad sometimes. but i think im okay with that right now. we're all so afraid to be the same. maybe ill teach myself to appreciate it or something or realize that it doesnt matter if i am. and that whatever we thought was interesting and special had already been done. it was already thought about.
but you were the first person to be the seventy third to think of it.
ill embrace number 73.
it would be green if it was any color.
94 would be orange.
we gazed at the sign in hollywood. and i liked being there. mostly because pete was there. and i got a taste of that relocation process i talked about.
ct in ca.
i like the ct people a good bit.
just the geography. the topography.
british men on planes are good to talk to. he suggested england. obviously.
joel aaron on planes is good too.
straight out of some ridiculous full house episode or something. can you believe that i stopped watching that show in seventh grade because 17 magazine deemed it "lame"....
albeit lame, the chance meeting in the airport fit the California adventure nicely.
and so we sat. freshman year memories. and his hair.. so short. and the stewardess. so witty. ... or not so witty.
sadam sadam sadam and bob liked to play trivia on delta song.
when that happens.. bet on the american name. bob inevitably wins.
exploitation or just better? america is a tricky one to figure out. but he still won.
so avocado trees will be filled with my little wee ones. playing in their yard. ya ill be poor. ill be in california. but relatively it will be pathetic to consider myself poor.
[ actually.... it definitely makes NO sense ]
[ its called brain goo. or something ]
remember that time that i went to california.
when you walk out into the air there you feel like you're back on Charlemagne again. there's a smell and im not even kidding. you have to believe me. there really is. and you feel the peace of a slower race. a race nonetheless.
i know.
but slower.
and you always want to light up... even though you dont smoke. maybe bc this place reminds you of linda. so the nearest dolche and gabana boy from westwood will help. how appropriate on both sides of the trip.
sometime i wonder if im just afraid to compete. so i just dont... fear of loss. fear of inevitable rejection because of my lack of income and naturally altered and injected good looks.
im ambitious. but this field of self efficacy is holding me back. i dont think that i could be successful. i dont even take risks. i tell myself that i do. but a risk would require possible failure. so we stear clear of that here.
california was full of hipsters and i now know that i am no different in my differences. and then i realize that i need a different field to excell in. one with no other people. but there are so many people in fields by themselves that we all end up being togehter.
flaps in the air so whisper to me the story about that man with the weight and about flipping over handle bars. screen this show. screen this into a burned cd.
i want to sew all of this into me so deep that all seam rippers will be at a loss. what to do what to do they will ask themselves. we have lost her to the other side. coast upon coast, shouting for her attention but we know where this little bike lane ends.
a place where she does somer saults and realizes that it never even made a difference.
it
never
even
made
a
difference
chelsie. david.
tubes deflate like my lie.
theres this big lie that you can be convinced of if you say it over and over and over and over again.
some sentence that contains the words: good. really. connecticut. and/or new england.
but then theres that old thing that sounds occassionally. the wise philosophy of a man with a band that we hate to like.
telling my 7th grade concerts in the shower that it doesnt ever matter where you are. that its who you are with.
i see myself in south no-wheres-place.
im happy
i have funny friends.
a respected guy figure that likes to take pictures. and read the bible
i am happier than i was when i lived in that apartment in laguna. that summer was so anticlimactic.
bianchi. or anything because i want to ride a bike so i feel like im somewhere else.
unhealthy. what of it.
flee from the nothingness that is here.
i thought about packing up the people. stow aways and relocating them. i would be there and have the people to go with it.
mosaic was nice. and the boy saw these shoes and thought more of me because of it. sad. i left and flew downhill. the whole way... pedling fast with sacred hands lifted high.. off the bars.
at least we've narrowed this all to the west coast.
one day our tubes decided to reject air. decided to break apart over and over. silly little bikes. and so: funniness on chelsies bike
holding on tight. so tight. out of control. bangs. elbows and legs. and i was smiling.
i am so like everyone else. its sad sometimes. but i think im okay with that right now. we're all so afraid to be the same. maybe ill teach myself to appreciate it or something or realize that it doesnt matter if i am. and that whatever we thought was interesting and special had already been done. it was already thought about.
but you were the first person to be the seventy third to think of it.
ill embrace number 73.
it would be green if it was any color.
94 would be orange.
we gazed at the sign in hollywood. and i liked being there. mostly because pete was there. and i got a taste of that relocation process i talked about.
ct in ca.
i like the ct people a good bit.
just the geography. the topography.
british men on planes are good to talk to. he suggested england. obviously.
joel aaron on planes is good too.
straight out of some ridiculous full house episode or something. can you believe that i stopped watching that show in seventh grade because 17 magazine deemed it "lame"....
albeit lame, the chance meeting in the airport fit the California adventure nicely.
and so we sat. freshman year memories. and his hair.. so short. and the stewardess. so witty. ... or not so witty.
sadam sadam sadam and bob liked to play trivia on delta song.
when that happens.. bet on the american name. bob inevitably wins.
exploitation or just better? america is a tricky one to figure out. but he still won.
so avocado trees will be filled with my little wee ones. playing in their yard. ya ill be poor. ill be in california. but relatively it will be pathetic to consider myself poor.
posted by bethanneclements at 7:38 PM
2 Comments:
yes.
Apparently they've painted the "full house" house in SanFran yellow. Funny how the best things and memories from the past have become grotesque when you revist them.
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