A lot of people dream of changing their names, I am one of those people. Let's leave it at J.A.S. I'm not good with these things so i'll keep it short. With this blog i intend to post my own music, covers, and just regular logs about my last year of high school. I hope you will join along for the ride.
After silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music.
-Aldous Huxley
First concert in a year was a complete success. Got to see one of my favorite bands with my best friends. What more could I ask for. The beautiful sting I feel in my feet is slightly rewarding. It felt good to lose myself and jump up and down and scream to the top of my lungs yet not stick out since everyone else was doing the exact same thing. The comrodary at the concert was so sick. And the venue was so small and intimate. Man today was awesome. On the train home now. 5/27/12
I feel a twinge of pain
In my legs
And in my lungs
But it’s nothing I can’t overcome…
But I don’t fight it,
I give in,
I let the slightest hit consume me.
My arms pump
And my legs stride
But there’s no conviction
No urge to try,
My Sophomore self would be
So ashamed of my
Blatant disregard for the sport I once loved.
And so I hang my head
As I detest myself and my poor performance.
Rain patters upon the windshield
Switching from exceptionally catastrophic
To
Slightly less threatening
In a way that tells me
The sky is confused;
It’s overwhelmed by a flurry of emotions,
Reminding me of my days.
And so I alternate the windshield wiper’s strength
From ‘hopefully you can see’
To ‘exceptional speed,’
In hopes of making everything in life more clear,
Forgetting that they only rid me of the obstacles in front of my windshield.
Left to my overcrowded thoughts,
And the dull emptiness felt due to the silent phone,
I increase the volume of the stereo,
Embracing the lack of Top 40s on the music player attached,
Basking in the little bubble they call an automobile,
Remaining vigilant,
Of the other bubbles
And the pattering rain.
I’ve kind of been drawing a blank
I realize that I don’t really write
Unless I’m seriously pissed
Or
Incredibly down
Or
Completely ecstatic.
I haven’t really been anything
I’m just going through the motions
Which isn’t a bad thing.
I guess I’m just not inspired by much anymore.
Does anyone ever,
Care?
Why tag my tweet as such
When I already know the possibility of
Someone actually caring about what I have to say being slim to none.
Why not tag all my speech as such,
It would be easier on everyone,
Easier on myself,
Not having anyone expect profound words to fall from my lips,
The burden finally lifted.
Sometimes,
I just want to write
To remember I can.
I want to leave a sign
That I’m back again.
I want my thoughts read
And my feelings interpreted.
I just,
I just don’t want to be forgotten,
Not by you,
Particularly.
When I whispered “Rot in hell.” To you the other day, I know you thought I was kidding…
I wasn’t.
With every bone in my body, Every fiber of my being, I believe you should in fact Rot in hell For the scenery fits your state of mind; Relentless and wicked.
The anxiety,
It’s back,
And the tears are being held there,
Back.
I’m on a one way track,
Of continuity,
Forever revisiting these feelings,
Forever feeling like life is a lie,
And that trust is futile.
I wish I were oblivious
So I wouldn’t know
And this wouldn’t hurt.
I wish I were less perceptive
Because deep down in me
I knew all along,
I knew it was coming,
But I hoped,
I hoped to be wrong -
And I’m a fool for doing so -
I should have
Readied myself,
And learned to deal with the idea
Maybe then it would hurt less,
I’d be better off
Oblivious
