I said I'd make you smile for the simple fact I'm good at it
I said I'd make you smile just so I can sit and look at it
I cant be the only one that remembers Chilly Willie.
Or Endless Mike.
I remember waking up at 3am and going out, sleeping on the couch, watching MTV...you know, back when there was only one MTV and they still made an attempt at playing music.
I remember waking back up at five, when my mother got up, and changing the channel to 6Foxand falling back to sleep listening to Speed Racer.
Waking up to Chilly Willie at 7, watching Sailor Moon, then going out to the bus stop.
A few years later, I remember sitting in the Junior Parking Lot at the high school, smoking cigarettes with Sammy in his S-10, trying to stay warm in February, listening to Been Caught Stealing on the radio. I dont remember what we talked about, all i remember was shivering, smoking, being half-asleep and hearing that song. Now every time i hear that song my mind jumps back to that moment and i can smell taste and feel that memory.
Music is my Madeline.
I remember that sick feeling i would feel before school, it's the same one i wake up with every fucking day, now. It's not better or worse, i've just gotten used to it.
So there's this flier in the cafeteria where i work that's advertising a Studio For Rent down on Water Street. Since i was twelve i've wanted to live in a studio-style home. I find something comforting about a home with no walls. So i see this flier and my mind jumps to all the love i have for things nobody cares about, i see it's on Water Street and i think it's the building connected to the best flippin' parking deck in town, and i think of how great it would be to live there.
Except that it's a studio for artist to work in, not a studio for bohemians to live in.
Drat.
I wouldnt wanna live in an apartment complex anyways, that shits for chumps. I'd much rather buy land and build a studio-style house.
Or just buy a house and convert it into a studio. There's something special about a home with no walls. Except for the bathroom, that bitch is gonna be caged like a beast. I've never wanted two stories and a picket fence. Two bathes, a pantry, walk-in closets, full kitchen, two stall garage, a garden.
Well, i actually would like a garden. I like gardens, trees, grass.
I dont want a mansion, no gated communities, no historical society BS, no housing commission et al.
I dont want anything flash, nothing extravagant, nothing showy, and i think a wallless living space is something i can get behind.
Something simple, something open, something lovely. That's my bohemian dream.
J asked me today why i never got braces. I've got an overbite and four crooked teethfrom sucking my thumb. I told him that, when i was younger and vain shit like that bothered me, my parents could afford it. As i got older, it didnt bother me, so i never considered it. I accepted it and it became another defining characteristic.
AJ's got the Wiswall thugs calling me Luc-ster. Now everytime i ride down that way to pick up AJ (or a bag), i have people yelling The Luc-ster! at me. It really is more irritating that is sounds.
Dialed up his homie Murs on the telephone
Gotta talk to somebody who can tell him what the hell is wrong
Brain freezing up, he don't know what to do
But the people that know him know that it ain't nothing new
Catch five rings, then an answering machine
Hang up on the beep, stare up towards the ceiling
Stood up to remember that he slept fully-dressed
So he grabbed his keys and put a hat on his rat's nest
Stepped up to that big outside
Somebody once said "Today's a good day to die."
But he never really was a big fan of their work
So he starts up the walk by kicking sand in the dirt
A friend to the strangers, a stranger to friends
He'll take a coffee and a pack of cigarettes when you have a
minute
Handle it. Paid up. The change, you can keep it
He's a sucker for the morning smile and summer cleavage
If you knew him better he'd ask for some time
Cuz he's looking for a reservoire to empty his mind
And there's only so much he can put in a song
Gotta talk to somebody who can tell him what the hell is wrong
And this house has gotta lotta walls
But only very few mean anything to you
I said I'd make you smile just so I can sit and look at it
I cant be the only one that remembers Chilly Willie.
Or Endless Mike.
I remember waking up at 3am and going out, sleeping on the couch, watching MTV...you know, back when there was only one MTV and they still made an attempt at playing music.
I remember waking back up at five, when my mother got up, and changing the channel to 6Foxand falling back to sleep listening to Speed Racer.
Waking up to Chilly Willie at 7, watching Sailor Moon, then going out to the bus stop.
A few years later, I remember sitting in the Junior Parking Lot at the high school, smoking cigarettes with Sammy in his S-10, trying to stay warm in February, listening to Been Caught Stealing on the radio. I dont remember what we talked about, all i remember was shivering, smoking, being half-asleep and hearing that song. Now every time i hear that song my mind jumps back to that moment and i can smell taste and feel that memory.
Music is my Madeline.
I remember that sick feeling i would feel before school, it's the same one i wake up with every fucking day, now. It's not better or worse, i've just gotten used to it.
So there's this flier in the cafeteria where i work that's advertising a Studio For Rent down on Water Street. Since i was twelve i've wanted to live in a studio-style home. I find something comforting about a home with no walls. So i see this flier and my mind jumps to all the love i have for things nobody cares about, i see it's on Water Street and i think it's the building connected to the best flippin' parking deck in town, and i think of how great it would be to live there.
Except that it's a studio for artist to work in, not a studio for bohemians to live in.
Drat.
I wouldnt wanna live in an apartment complex anyways, that shits for chumps. I'd much rather buy land and build a studio-style house.
Or just buy a house and convert it into a studio. There's something special about a home with no walls. Except for the bathroom, that bitch is gonna be caged like a beast. I've never wanted two stories and a picket fence. Two bathes, a pantry, walk-in closets, full kitchen, two stall garage, a garden.
Well, i actually would like a garden. I like gardens, trees, grass.
I dont want a mansion, no gated communities, no historical society BS, no housing commission et al.
I dont want anything flash, nothing extravagant, nothing showy, and i think a wallless living space is something i can get behind.
Something simple, something open, something lovely. That's my bohemian dream.
J asked me today why i never got braces. I've got an overbite and four crooked teethfrom sucking my thumb. I told him that, when i was younger and vain shit like that bothered me, my parents could afford it. As i got older, it didnt bother me, so i never considered it. I accepted it and it became another defining characteristic.
AJ's got the Wiswall thugs calling me Luc-ster. Now everytime i ride down that way to pick up AJ (or a bag), i have people yelling The Luc-ster! at me. It really is more irritating that is sounds.
Dialed up his homie Murs on the telephone
Gotta talk to somebody who can tell him what the hell is wrong
Brain freezing up, he don't know what to do
But the people that know him know that it ain't nothing new
Catch five rings, then an answering machine
Hang up on the beep, stare up towards the ceiling
Stood up to remember that he slept fully-dressed
So he grabbed his keys and put a hat on his rat's nest
Stepped up to that big outside
Somebody once said "Today's a good day to die."
But he never really was a big fan of their work
So he starts up the walk by kicking sand in the dirt
A friend to the strangers, a stranger to friends
He'll take a coffee and a pack of cigarettes when you have a
minute
Handle it. Paid up. The change, you can keep it
He's a sucker for the morning smile and summer cleavage
If you knew him better he'd ask for some time
Cuz he's looking for a reservoire to empty his mind
And there's only so much he can put in a song
Gotta talk to somebody who can tell him what the hell is wrong
And this house has gotta lotta walls
But only very few mean anything to you