my lack of words and lack of better taste

So it's 5:35 am. I'm not at Matt Villani's. Instead I'm watching videos of my all my favorite Long Island boys, listening to their music and trying to decide whether I'm full of shit or not. The verdict has to be reached.

Something that's real. Hm.

I'm the kind of girl who hears a drop and runs out to driveway pavement to see if they came, just because they once promised they would.

The rain outside my window makes me miss them terribly. It pierces me in a numb way, if that makes any sense at all. And I can't do anything about it. I knew we'd only have a moment right from the start, but being expectant and being accustomed are two very different things. I'll never get used to people leaving me 5 boys at a time. I wish I'd lied, but I always wait for rain.

I'm the kind of girl with a ring in her ear, rather than on her finger.

So Mike I've been thinking, you should go back to just hitting the chord at the end of the first chorus, forget the rake. It has nothing to with the fact that you've never scored higher than a 7 in rake cleanliness, or that you make a really dumb face when it goes sour. I'm just sayin'. I think that detail would help me believe in the lyrics more, cuz with this noise in my head the only part I've heard lately is about the money and the miles.

I'm the kind of girl who talks about music when she's really just trying to get you to stay a little longer.

Someone asked me how I could write these things. How I could have the nerve to believe in a scene and its music, its musicians, and put words to their existence. My reality is that I have to go upstate to my hometown this weekend. There are grandmas staying in the hospital, mothers and cousins getting ready to check in. Brothers that haven't talked to me in weeks, and uncles that think I've lost my damn mind. There are ex-boyfriends waiting for answers that I just don't have to give and of course, there are no friends on account they gave up on my promises long ago. So let me ask you: why wouldn't I write about Long Island band boys? They're my favorite. Why not stay up till 6am listening to these songs if it makes 11:11 come sooner? I've been battling my head over what is and what is not good enough to write here because that someone needed to scream at me in order to make himself feel better. But I think he's the one who's actually full of shit. Go away, I'm busy picking petals out.

Something real at 6 in the morning? Ha, everything's real at this hour.




...Terica.
"Catastrophe" by: Big City Lights