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thispleasantsolitude
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Name: the adam c.
Country: United States
State: Maine
Metro: Bangor
Birthday: 3/7/1984
Interests: 63 story buildings
I once painted a picture of life in a heartbeat.
but the new york times so harshly criticized the conservatice symbolism I had to scrub the chalk off the sidewalk in union square.
george was pissed
so was jane
but jane is always pissed
its her gig
Expertise: don't walk so tall
dean is watching everythign that you do
and he really has aquired some bad habits.
Message: message me
Website: visit my website
Member Since:
10/8/2002
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| white board marker, on a cocktail napkin
soiled from my filthy pocket, never really knew its place
folded into diamonds, to imitate an image
that never really walked out
onto the ballroom floor.
You are my tried and true
you are my tried and true
neither one is rouge
still you're my tried and true
the bank is so expensive, taking what they need when
they need it more than I do, but they don't really ask
thirty five and living, across the pages of a novel
wonder why I'm crippled, by the plight of your return
I am always on the move
Yes I am always on the move
tumble stumbler, blocks crashing where they do
I am always on the move
The bird, red, dry eyes, landing on the foliage
whisking in the wind, of a northeast cold front
she only makes me colder, when I am not prepared
learn young man, faster, quiet, stronger, a jacket tames october tempers
you are my tried and true
yes you are my tried and true
it always come right back to you
my darling singing tried and true. | | |
| hello heaven.
don't let the sun swallow you whole.
its a dangerous culprit.
with his pistol thats chasing you loose
and the noose, she's an animal
as the interest accrues
walkin' talkin' gypsie
dancing like a fool.
OH OH OH
HELLO HELLO HELLO Heaven.
stamp, sea, shell, shard, broke me
I married the wrong one
I know, I know, don't be reminding
your warning was stern
at first.
but I am not nimble enough to reverse
You know I love you like a rothschild
you know I watch those merrigolds
get taller in the garden
as the summer comes and goes.
thank you pretty baby
the gifts that keep on giving
are the ones that keep me shivering
sincerely. missing you.
Get behind me satan
the sad songs are drunk
passed out in the alley,
passed out on the porch.
now we're getting down lonely
I don't need your poison
its sunday as sunday
I'm singing a sweet one.
YOU KNOW I LOVE YOU LIKE A ROTHsCHILD.
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| remote control helicopter's
acoustic guitar
piano's
the country maine sky at night
the barren highway at night
night
john steinbeck
hope
hey by the pixies
full glasses
camp fires
my 3 brothers
old friends
memory
football
bukowski
red wine
cigarettes
jazz standards
fantasy baseball
bradey riddle
time travel
scheming
leather couches
wind
chicken salad
creating
pregnant women
mean girls
the dry cleaner
good live music
the godfather
the glass family
swimming
wise old men
learning
cribbage
thanksgiving
the alchemist
tatoo's
google
yoshimi battles the pink robots
hick trucks
sunglasses
maps
lucid dreams
muted trumpet
porterhouse
fresh cut wood
perfect sets of teeth
katie couric
yes
psalm 23
sunrise
sunset
boats and bigger boats.
gospel hymns
1988 pontiac le mans
40's
everything mac
sudoku
the kennedy's
bob dylan
new shoes
kids
bmw
brand new socks
Manhatten
the story of Faith
jeff tweedy
revolver's
sad songs
hiking
buffalo wings
the raven
black coffee
ALF
ali g
solitude
mirrors
chuck norris jokes
the second matrix movie
open bar wedding receptions
grand marnier
technology
autumn
steve nute
taking care of people
kobe bryant
finished to do lists
victory
buzztime trivia
affection
sing-alongs
great sex
birthdays
chocolate milk shakes
nam yoho renge kyo
glory
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| The carpet is stained. It smells like rusted beer cans that have been left on the porch through the weekend after your party for my 23rd Birthday. I am chain smoking, and thinking that the breeze coming off the gulf is the single most entertaining thing about this decrepit, loathsome, death bed of a town. That and the Buzz time Trivia at the Hick bowling Lane next door, with the two skinny blonde haired blue eyed sisters who bartender, with their southern sweet and catwalk stroll and a knack for making you feel like you are the most important half drunk son of a bitch looking a little too long when you order another five dollar pitcher to make you forget that tomorrow is another 12 hour day.
Sophie says that the carpet is stained from the dirt underneath, she shampooed them when they moved in, and they looked great, and she vacuums everyday like a mad woman (Sometimes twice when she was unemployed because she couldn't stand being stagnant for a dull moment unless she was baked on the couch with a pan of hot cookies on her way out), and lastly because there is no way that Tink has pissed on the rug that many times in the 3 months that they have lived here. She is right, I've been here two of those months and Tink has only pissed on the rug maybe twice.
Last summer I went through this phase of getting drunk on the lawn in a last attempt to relieve some financial burden caused by my long nights at the bar. I lived directly in the middle of a college campus and even mid summer there were plenty of stumblers passing by at odd hours of the night, occasionally I would strike up a conversation mostly consisting of pointless banter that would end with them pulling up a lawn chair and helping me finish the case, believe it or not I met more beautiful girls this way than you could ever imagine (though most of them ended up to be schizo night owl drunks like myself and ironically that is a massive turn off for me, for some reason I want the girl next door who bakes and irons my shirts for me right before she rolls me out of bed to get me going for the day). Well one night we really got lit me and a couple of these grad students studying something incredibly trivial like eastern european history or british pop culture (hell if I remember), just get talking for hours because honestly I fucking dig Trivial, some stupid fact is like a new toy to me I tell it to every stranger at the Bar the next night and they're just thrilled they heard something besides the Red Sox finally traded Manny Ramirez for 4000th time that week. So we are just lit, something like a full case and a bottle of the Doctor, I mean just drowning drunk. So I go back to the one girls place and realize I have totally left my yard just trashed. The landlord had an office on the first floor and I was concerned he'd piss himself if he gets to work and his building is littered with empty cans and cigarette packs. So I freak out and get running home at like 6:30 in the morning, only to find that that the lawn is spotless. I couldn't figure it out. The next night, I decide to leave some cans just for the hell of it. Come morning, they are gone. Turns out there is some neighborhood bum that goes around collecting cans and tidying up lawns like the tooth fairy. Bottle Redemption! What a gorgeous thing! That my friends is a beautiful example of bureaucracy at work, who needs a job if you got a neighborhood full of not-yet-adult drunks. Only, there is no bottle redemption in Florida, so the bums are just bums and have no steady labor, and we have littered lawns, and lazy renters who just had one too many last night and don't give a shit what someone thinks cause I'd rather sleep an extra hour before I work all day. But I do love the sweet smell of cleanliness, especially right when I get out of the shower. I would light some incense but It makes me sick lately, probably cause I've been smoking too much and the only fumes I want to inhale are the ones that steady the shaking of my hands so I can type out a god damn line or play a note on the guitar. The world will absolutely stop revolving if I don't get my smokes, because I will stop its revolutions single handedly out of pure spite for the mean ass hole who stood between me and the seven eleven register when my pack is empty, I do not Fuck around when it comes to my cigarettes.
Addiction is a bitch, I can tell you that in all certainty. It creeps up on you like the 19 year old sorority girl in the mall.
"Need any help finding something today sir?"
"nah, just looking; trying to kill sometime (as I wrestle through the clearance racks looking for a decent pair of jeans for less than what I spent at the bar the night before)"
"Let me help, girls know these kind of things...(then some small banter back and forth, and God she is so hot, what's the harm in looking, I'll think of a way to sneak out of this so I don't look like a cheap ass)
Next thing you know you're leaving with 4 pairs of Hundred dollar jeans you put on your credit card cause this hot, seemingly dumb (but obviously sly and compelling), seven dollar an hour employee told you how great you look in them and how she wished her boyfriend would buy a pair.
That is addiction, it was harmless fun at first, then you're thinking maybe its just a cheap thrill but hell I'll get out if I have to, and next thing you know you're sold, no number on the receipt, no extra ladies winking at you at the bar because your jeans are a little tighter and have the cleverest knitted Longhorn on the back pockets, just a four-hundred dollar bar tab that your friend (bartender) sherry won't stop reminding you about and a pair of lungs that like to sit down more than they like to work.
I think to myself. This is what getting old is. More Vices, Less Free time, Rugs that need to be re-shampooed, and God damn Empty Beer cans rotting in a plastic bin on the porch.
The world will absolutely stop revolving if I don't get my smokes, because I will stop its revolutions single handedly out of pure spite for the mean ass hole who stood between me and the seven eleven register | | |
| im going to stay right here
faith keeps me believing the stories not ready to be heard
the roads not ready to be relived
kid I'm growing back out of this place
I talk like I have had the world at my fingertips
and maybe I have, or maybe I will
and its my sleep that sees the things I'll believe
I'm going to stay right here
just strum all six string, unless I only need four
I've got a phone that takes me anywhere I want to go
I've been to narvon, jersey, the sunshine city, and the real country
where cowboys are the real thing
and the ocean is just a mystery
not the next door neighbor
I'm going to stay right here
cause I've been on the run from someone in a black coat
and curls in his hair, and blue eyes that dent the sides of girls hearts
and arms so long they swallow his guitar
and a head so blurred it can't find the door
and legs that walk nowhere, searching for nothing
but digging each slow pace.
I'm going away to my room
I'll lay down and blast the sterio so loud
the roomates get angry, and I'll shut them up
with the swiftest punch to the mouth
cause thats all I need a recycle bin
to let out all of these emotions, collected over the past month
oh cowboys, and closed doors, and jersey
and words under my submission
I'll take you anywhere
the glow coming from the windows
is the college girls next door
drinking themselves into a funk
never thinking about whats next
just collecting stories to tell their sons
though they don't know
whats sad
whats sad
not me.
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