The Color Of Hunger

Indulgence

iplaytrack1224 — Tue, 26 Feb 2013 22:30:18 +0000

Indulgence, that look in your eye. A tone spoken with a guilty iris. Here’s to that contagious little half-smile making it’s way between your lips.

You stand up, try to. I’m here to help you, shaky legs. Balance. Steady. Outside is not far from us. Take me with you. Please, I cannot bear me alone with me. Combining fingerprints, we are the children of euphoric stimulation. Tenderness of molecules, each blossom of skin alive. Witness to mini-rainbows forming in the sprinkler mist of neighboring lawns. Making me giddy. I begin to dance across foreign grass. Soft, wet, green kissing my toes. I feel good, as do you. You tell me this and I laugh at you because you’re laughing at yourself. Squeezing me tighter via palms, I am wearing nothing but you.

You look at me with brand new eyes and I don’t know whether to run or stand rigidly in the light of vulnerability. I have spent months ignoring your gaze in fear that I will never know what it means. Don’t look at me. My face tells nothing of the world inside my head. Our pupils meet and I try to cross the ocean between our two bodies, but I drown long before I reach the shore. These words are tired and as my mouth forms the syllables they taste stale on my tongue.

I want my legs draped over your shoulders. My voice breath-filled and coy. My hands pulling you in closer. My body writhing with joy. Your face buried deep between my thighs. Holding you in place. Your nose filled with my sweet scent. Your tongue dancing with my taste.

Your hair. Your smile. Your voice. Your words. Your kisses. Your hands. Your heart. Your laugh. Your body. Your clothes. Your scent. Your jokes. Your hugs. You.

Mike Monday – When The Rain Falls

iplaytrack1224 — Tue, 29 Jan 2013 10:22:07 +0000

Mmmmmmmm, god I love this so much…what a beautiful undertone.

Mutemath – You Are Mine

iplaytrack1224 — Tue, 08 Jan 2013 05:09:52 +0000

Yes, yes, yes.

Maybe

iplaytrack1224 — Mon, 07 Jan 2013 06:00:06 +0000

Maybe these feelings are too strong to capture in words. Maybe a blank page would convey them better than an inked one. Maybe I should stop trying and just let you do you and me do me. Maybe that would lead to a simpler, easier life for the both of us. Maybe it wouldn’t. Maybe these tears bleed through my writing for a reason. Maybe if I were patient enough to let them dry, this paper in front of me wouldn’t be ugly, soaked, and full of holes in half-hearted attempts to rub them out. Maybe if I didn’t let them fall from my cheeks to begin with, they wouldn’t be there and this problem wouldn’t exist.

Maybe if I stared out this open window long enough, my mind would magically go blank and shit would make sense again. Maybe these thoughts consume me because I allow them to. Maybe that’s what I want. Maybe I fear an empty conscience. Maybe that makes more sense to you, than me. Maybe I’m secretly hoping it does.

Maybe I won’t think about you today. Maybe I can make it through my mornings, my afternoons, my evenings, my nights, without letting my curiosity destroy my innocence. Maybe if I threw my head back and closed my eyes tight enough it would fade this obsession. Maybe this wishful thinking is what’s preventing me from accepting the reality of it all.

Maybe in the future, you will teach me lots of cool things, and I will learn them, get good at them, and re-teach you with a smile on my face. Maybe I’ll apologize for not ending this little attachment of ours before feelings took over, but between me and you, I have very few regrets.

Maybe love is that condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own. Maybe love is a natural hallucinogen and I am a fucking addict. Maybe we all are. Maybe love means that you accept a person with all their failures, stupidities, ugly points, and nonetheless, you see perfection in imperfection itself. Maybe when you truly love someone, age, distance, height, weight, and salary are just numbers. Maybe I am just crazy. Maybe I am o-fucking-kay with that.

Maybe I will never ever, in a million years, figure out why pain penetrates deeper internally than ex. Maybe this mystery was never ever, in a million years, meant to be figured out.

Maybe this music will numb me. Maybe if I turn the volume knob far enough to the right, it will drown out my bad intentions and leave my soul somewhat pure again. Maybe fuck pure. Maybe pure is the antagonist here; the backbone to false being, closed minds, and a society watered down with status and statistic. Maybe sometimes in this boring, scheduled life, this waiting-for-Friday-night life that we all lead, we just need the world to remind us that not everything is perfect. Maybe flaws are pretty, too. Maybe there’s some beauty in the breakdown. Maybe there are more people than I think who feel the same way as I do. Maybe you are one of them. Maybe I’m just losing my fucking mind.

Maybe Anxiety won’t get the best of me today. Maybe if I cut the bad fruit off the tree, there would be no reason for me to be anxious. Maybe this fruit is sweet as a motherfucker though and I love the way it leaves my tongue longing for more. Maybe I feel more alive when my heart beats as fast as it does because of this. Maybe there is too much brain in my head. Maybe I like playing my cards wrong. Maybe I enjoy the chaos.

Maybe the best way to appreciate something is to be without it for awhile. Maybe this would allow for my past to make me a better person in my current state instead of a bitter one. Maybe nothing ever becomes real until it is experienced. Maybe I haven’t grasped this concept to the best of my abilities yet. Maybe soon, I might.

Maybe being strong just isn’t for me. Maybe I should embrace my sad side and let it take me wherever the fuck it chooses to take me. Maybe every bit of sadness in my life only serves to make the good bits sweeter. Maybe the problem contains the solution. Maybe I already know this, but refuse to swallow it.

Maybe I should calm down, take a deep breath, and relax. Maybe if I could, I would. Maybe fuck calm. Maybe I should punch today in the face. Maybe Anxiety is denying me this oxygen as a form of cruel punishment and there’s no way to escape it so I shouldn’t try to. Maybe I don’t know me like I thought I did. Maybe I should put this cigarette out now, seeing as I don’t smoke and I can’t remember how it got between my lips in the first place.

Maybe if I put more mascara on tomorrow morning, the dark circles lingering below my eyes won’t be so noticeable. Maybe these pair of Tylenol on the table in front of me would kick in faster accompanied by a good tall glass of whiskey and Coke. Maybe I am stuck in memory lane because I love running into you. Maybe in order to regain traction I have to forget it all. Maybe I can’t bring myself to do that right now. Maybe I have to make myself not want you or else you’re all I think about. Maybe the word ‘maybe’ should be void in that last sentence.

Maybe I love losing myself in you, running my fingers through your hair, down your temple, kissing you everywhere until your smell lingers on me even after you’re gone. Maybe I take pleasure in indulging in you. Maybe locking your fingers, your legs, your lips, between mine when we fuck is worth every minute of the nostalgia of the replay. Maybe sometimes I wonder how different your replays are compared to mine.

Maybe you make me happier than you’ll ever know. Maybe I crave your youth, that spunk you carry yourself with, and maybe I enjoy dwelling in your energy because it brings out the best of mine. Maybe there was meaning behind the words we exchanged. Maybe sometimes the wrong choices bring us to the right places. Maybe I’m just a dreamer who should have more realistic hopes.

Maybe I’m making this worse by writing about it. Maybe this is the only way I know how to extract my emotion and cope with it. Maybe fuck you for loving me. Maybe fuck me for the same damn reason. Maybe you are my question. Maybe you are my answer. Maybe you are neither. Maybe all we need is time to figure out who we are, what this is, and where we want to go with it. Maybe we will never know.

Maybe you understand this more than I ever will.

Maybe not.

Cognitive Dissonance

iplaytrack1224 — Mon, 24 Dec 2012 03:08:09 +0000

As the evenings become cooler and night closer to day, we are reminded of the changes in season. The changes within ourselves. Each spring we smolder, waiting to burn through the summer passion that we accept or want to be waiting at our door. Ideas, lovers, ideals. Year after year – disappointment. The passion escapes us. A snowman made of sand. But not this one.
.
The ‘it’ is there as we hoped. The ‘it’ burns hot. Suddenly, everything is interesting. The creases in our palms. The blood in our veins. The history of us. We begin to connect mutual urges of curiosity, thinking thoughts on a level that is solely ours. Physically, mentally, emotionally. Reevaluating the noise you feed me over pillows no one else can hear. Entangled in each other; hands venture, exclusive pleasure. When your body and mine lie together under a white sheet. The whole long continent of you. The pale ridgeline of your collarbone and hip and thigh. The comforting filling and refilling of your chest. The warmth I so completely get lost in. There is nothing that needs to be explained. But how did we get here? Do we belong? Why are we always so shy on the answers?
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Relaxed and patient, we submit to the flux of our present feeling. Changing the way we think about each other with every new encounter. Bringing you down to things you can’t conceive. Knowing that it is I who have done it. Seeing your wonderful spirit dependent upon the obscenity of your need. Witnessing you as you are, as you face the world with your clean, proud strength. Then to see you, in my bed, surrendering to any infamous whim I may devise. With your guilty little half smile. Watching your dishonor. To which you’ll submit to for the sake of an unspeakable sensation. You are the boy who wonders into hearts without knocking or wiping your feet, my love. I am the girl who says goodbye but never really lets go. We are the aimless, the lost, the constant consumers of endless fascination.
.
And now, as the evenings become cooler, night closer to day, we are reminded of the changes in season. Crisp autumn air stimulating fresh relations. Inhale. Exhale. We breath each other in and through and down and out. The wants, the needs. Via you. Via me. The faults, the flaws, the imperfections, the personality extractions. I’ve spent hours contemplating the words to say to you, but no combination of twenty six different letters could ever accurately capture even a sliver of what this feeling is. Yet I continue to want it. I need it really. You are both my umbrella and my rain. But I will always be left trying to figure out how that can be.

Chromeo – Bonafied Lovin’ (RAC Mix)

iplaytrack1224 — Tue, 30 Oct 2012 23:21:37 +0000

Amazing, amazing, amazing! RAC is the shit.

Tame Impala – Feels Like We Only Go Backwards

iplaytrack1224 — Tue, 30 Oct 2012 18:48:20 +0000

Beatles mixed with Black Keys…I love it.

Trick Or Treat! Or Beer. Whatever Works.

iplaytrack1224 — Thu, 25 Oct 2012 20:53:57 +0000

This will be my first Halloween without a pumpkin, a costume, or a plan. Well maybe the second. Or the third. Or the fourth. (Who keeps track of these things?!) I’m not very good at planning shit, so it’s one of those events that just kinda comes as it goes. A day on the calendar that adds enough excitement to make an October interesting, but at the same time, isn’t heavily missed when it’s over. Take Martin Luther King Day for a relevant example.

A. – I’m not in any form of school anymore, so three day weekends are an endangered species, seeing as I always end up working them anyways.

B. – I’m not black.

C. – I hate history.

I think I’ll just be the same thing as last year. Pretty sure I’ve been the ’same thing as last year’ 3 times now. (Mainly because I’m lazy and usually choose to sit on my creativity rather than embrace it. Which will eventually be the death of me.) Last year consisted of black fishnets, a pair of slutty stilettos, and a fancy little red bra with lace outlining the straps and back section. I was the naughty nurse!

I honestly love being the naughty nurse. The attention received when I stand 6’3 with not much more than a few pieces of lingerie on is so fucking energizing. Especially when my best friend (Megon Witter, you have been tagged!) is not much shorter than I am and we go paint the town red together. All the shifty eyes, the nervous weight distribution shifts, the free drinks in the process of being mixed, purchased, and consumed. It’s such a trip. I love the nightlife. I love it all.

I actually won the costume from an online sweepstakes via Torrid.com. Now, if you haven’t heard of these guys, they’re a clothing store (there’s one in Northtown Mall, I believe) who specialize in sexy lingerie, denim, accessories, blah blah blah. Catch: They specialize in all those things…for plus-size women. I wasn’t aware of this at the time, so you can imagine my surprise when I open my prize to find a 40DD bra and what looks like a little red hammock. Which, under more thorough examination, turns out to be a thong. A gigantic red thong. (When I put it on, it looks like I’ve broken my arm because it’s pristine size for a sling, no fucking joke. Haha!) The box also came with an assortment of other nurse related paraphenilia that were one-size-fits-all tho, so there were definitely enough goodies to work with to piece a costume together. With the purchase of a new bra and panties, of course. Check and check.

The only downfall to my get-up is how damn cold it gets on the night of the 31st. And the lack of clothing on my body drops my tolerance level of temperature (which never really consisted of much to begin with) to a borderline unbearable. Unless of course I’m liquored up. In which case it could dip below zero and you’d still find me with a smile on my face, despite the fact that I’m drunk, naked, and making snow angels in the neighbors’ yards. (“Merry Christmaaaaas!!!” As I recycle my empty Heineken bottle to form Frosty’s nose.)

I can’t even remember where we ended up last Halloween, honestly. Or for that matter, where we started. (Obviously I must have been minus a camera because I’m usually pretty good at documenting shit like that.) This year I wanna find a hoppin’ house party with good people, good music, and a fridge full of good beer. Simple as that. I was actually giving thought to walking up and down EWU or Gonzaga’s campuses. But that would almost be too easy. My handicap of not having a vehicle may come into play here, considering I work 7am Thursday morning, but then again I wouldn’t have to cross that bridge ’til I got to it. (Which would probably be puffy-eyed and dehydrated on a stranger’s couch, 1o minutes before my scheduled clock-in time.) There’s always alternative methods of transportation when you’re dedicated enough tho. STA (the city bus) is effective. As are legs. As are friends with cars; they are the best kind.

I even went shopping for candy this year. For the (non-existent) trick or treaters who trick or treat apartment complexes, of course! Yea okay, so I gave in to my vice and bought a ten dollar bag of Milky Ways and Snickers. For myself. (I was in need of some Halloween spirit. That’s the excuse I tell myself at least.) Which I later regretted and realized I didn’t need any of in the first place. Self-control doesn’t kick in for me until I’m like three chocolates from the bottom of the bag. On a 30-count bag. I know this. I’ve always known this. My sweettooth’s kicked my ass on multiple occasions, but I continue to allow it to. (This goes for alcohol as well. I can’t help but be concerned for my health after I take my lost shot four times.)

My worst transgression has got to be caramels. Actually, pretty much anything chewy. Milk Duds, Air Heads, Starbursts, Mamba, Hot Tamales, Cinnamon Bears, Bit-O-Honey, Big Hunk. The list goes on forever. I’ve resorted to single-serving sizes because there’s way too much guilt associated with these the next day. The next hour. Whatever. Haha.

Enough about Halloween, I’m stoked for tonight! October 25th, 2012 equals…Zella’s 21st birthday! I saw a wonderful cake idea on Tumblr a long time ago and it was the funniest shit ever. I bookmarked it because I had to do it. So I did.

I can’t cook or bake for shit, so I bought a basic white cake from Rosauers. An undecorated one. Well, I guess it had a frilly border and a little bit of added color on the corners, but that was fine. I did the writing first, in pink frosting it reads: “HAPPY 21ST BITCH!” Then I added the toilet, which is actually a funny story.

I must have went to 10+ thrift/secondhand stores, on numerous occasions mind you, in search of a damn toilet that would be somewhat size proportional to a Barbie doll. I was cool with an independent mission at first, this’ll be easy, Goodwill’s got shitloads of old Happy Meal toys and such, right? Fuck. I was up and down that aisle more times than the unsupervised five year olds who practically lived there. No luck! It got to the point where I was a few days away from my deadline so I would scout out the store associates for assistance. Do you know how awkward (hilarious really) it is to ask for help when the goal object of your search is a goddamn Barbie toilet?! Very fucking. Haha! But even then, I just could not find one!

The day before Zella’s big day, I visited Boo Radley’s and sure as shit, they have a ‘toilet shot glass’ sitting on the shelf. Boom! All I needed now was a Barbie, a ’2′, a ’1′, some candles, and a canister of colorful sprinkles, which were all conveniently checked off my list via the Dollar Tree on 29th Avenue. Woo hoo!

It actually turned out better than expected. Maybe it’s because I compare myself to the doll’s condition and get a good laugh, knowing damn well I was in a similar state on my 21st. (Props to Barbie for finding the toilet tho, I wasn’t quite that lucky. Haha!) Damn good times. A spectator for tonight’s little outing shouldn’t be too painful tho. Really, really, really looking forward to it actually.

Ben Howard – Only Love

iplaytrack1224 — Tue, 23 Oct 2012 03:45:35 +0000

So absolutely beautiful and gorgeous. I love this so much.

Generationals – Yours Forever

iplaytrack1224 — Tue, 23 Oct 2012 03:31:48 +0000

So damn relevant.