every you every me - placebo
this might just be the most twistedly correct song from any album i've ever heard. no, its not the truest. but it is the hardest truth that placebo has ever faced me with. it takes the statement "love is heavensent" and with one word, makes it something so different. i know sucker love. i lived sucker love. and i loved sucker love. eventually, i puckered up and my passion was spent. not only does that show the weakness love shows when just sucker love, but it also shows the full lack of love in it at all. the fact that any passion can be spent completely eliminates any chance that real true love exists there. "every me every you" <- that is screaming how common this is, how selfish it is, how distorted it is, and strangely, how much we desperately need this "sucker" love. i should stop getting every idea from itunes, but its okay for now. before a love song for no one, john mayer shows the most extreme contentment. yes, hes tired of being alone, but he knows it'll happen when it happens. that is love. this isnt a patient song. but its not a nonpatient outlook.
Sucker love is known to swing.
Prone to cling and waste these things.
Pucker up for heavens sake.
There's never been so much at stake.
I serve my head up on a plate.
It's only comfort, calling late.
Cuz there's nothing else to do,
Every me and every you.
-OR-
Searching all my days just to find you
I'm not sure who I'm looking for
I'll know it
When I see you
Until then, I'll hide in my bedroom
Staying up all night just to write
A love song for no one
honestly, i like the ladder alot better. but without the first one, the second one just doesnt mean as much, not as much passion, not as much clarity. cause maybe, your gonna be the one that saves me and after all..your my wonderwall.
Jan 30, 2009
Jan 29, 2009
where do they all come from?
definition.
eLEANOR rIGBY: (n) not quite a proper noun, but still existing. she's the blurred forgotten face that represents the many many people we pass everyday. one of them wants to be president. and another one, she just got new shoes and is only out to show them off. and that guy on his phone, yeah, he's not really talking to anyone. BUT once upon a time, someone's disapproving eyes told him that it wasn't okay for him to be alone. SO, he picked up his phone and hurried along the sidewalk, pretending he has somewhere to go. and then theres you..
i dont expect to know your story yet, but i dont trust you to know it either...if you were to put yourself into that description, you'd know too much. only the observant bypass can affectively THINK they know who you are, make obscene inferences about your life and thoughts just by rubbing shoulders with you in a crowded city. we all know more than we say we do, we all care about more than ourselves, and we all do it for one reason and one reason only.
im assuming you know your reason. now, if i were passing you on the street, would i know it?
make me know it, make it run through you like blood. no matter what your taking in, let it out like carbon dioxide. i want you to prove me wrong. im so sick of thinking i know you all so well. but i don't blame myself. i blame you and everyone else. when you give me nothing to begin with, im forced to think i know everything and anything about you. show me who you are, and stop letting me (and everyone like me) take you for just another american idol reject, beauty school drop-out, Father McKenzie, or worst of all, eleanor herself.
eLEANOR rIGBY: (n) not quite a proper noun, but still existing. she's the blurred forgotten face that represents the many many people we pass everyday. one of them wants to be president. and another one, she just got new shoes and is only out to show them off. and that guy on his phone, yeah, he's not really talking to anyone. BUT once upon a time, someone's disapproving eyes told him that it wasn't okay for him to be alone. SO, he picked up his phone and hurried along the sidewalk, pretending he has somewhere to go. and then theres you..
i dont expect to know your story yet, but i dont trust you to know it either...if you were to put yourself into that description, you'd know too much. only the observant bypass can affectively THINK they know who you are, make obscene inferences about your life and thoughts just by rubbing shoulders with you in a crowded city. we all know more than we say we do, we all care about more than ourselves, and we all do it for one reason and one reason only.
im assuming you know your reason. now, if i were passing you on the street, would i know it?
make me know it, make it run through you like blood. no matter what your taking in, let it out like carbon dioxide. i want you to prove me wrong. im so sick of thinking i know you all so well. but i don't blame myself. i blame you and everyone else. when you give me nothing to begin with, im forced to think i know everything and anything about you. show me who you are, and stop letting me (and everyone like me) take you for just another american idol reject, beauty school drop-out, Father McKenzie, or worst of all, eleanor herself.
future black-holes
It's either Reading got darker, my eyes got sharper or the stars got brighter.
(i honestly dont care which)
but, stars are showing more than themselves these past few days.
luckily, i share a room, a house, an acre, with people who go to sleep hours before me
i see more stars, stars see more me.
i fall asleep yearning to watch them again,
i wake up disappointed.
the sun is too common, to blinding, to big looking
i like little-looking lights that you have to stay up late to see.
i also have a thing for alliteration.
(i honestly dont care which)
but, stars are showing more than themselves these past few days.
luckily, i share a room, a house, an acre, with people who go to sleep hours before me
i see more stars, stars see more me.
i fall asleep yearning to watch them again,
i wake up disappointed.
the sun is too common, to blinding, to big looking
i like little-looking lights that you have to stay up late to see.
i also have a thing for alliteration.
Jan 28, 2009
understanding? not a chance.
because it can either get caught,
or i'll just let it slide.
i could write it all down
or i could watch it fly up.
that "up" is no preposition. please, dont be mistaken. its a description of how it could fly.
its not an object that i speak of above.
its mearly a sentence, denying a love.
it was thrown between a desperate attempt
to save your skin, and maybe to tempt.
perhaps it was a mistake, your chasm-forming leak
the four small words, you dared to speak.
the rest of that night is labeled a blur,
and im sorry good sir, but its what i prefer
and you took it as nothing
but to me, it was something
i guess you'll never know,
and to you i'll never show,
what an impact you made.
if only it was me you'd serenade.
i hear you play a chord or two,
but the words you sing, all turn out a slew.
and it wasnt to me and i'd known it all along,
still, the pain, the noise, the end, i was trying to prolong.
or i'll just let it slide.
i could write it all down
or i could watch it fly up.
that "up" is no preposition. please, dont be mistaken. its a description of how it could fly.
its not an object that i speak of above.
its mearly a sentence, denying a love.
it was thrown between a desperate attempt
to save your skin, and maybe to tempt.
perhaps it was a mistake, your chasm-forming leak
the four small words, you dared to speak.
the rest of that night is labeled a blur,
and im sorry good sir, but its what i prefer
and you took it as nothing
but to me, it was something
i guess you'll never know,
and to you i'll never show,
what an impact you made.
if only it was me you'd serenade.
i hear you play a chord or two,
but the words you sing, all turn out a slew.
and it wasnt to me and i'd known it all along,
still, the pain, the noise, the end, i was trying to prolong.
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