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| Alexisonfire | |||||||||||||||
| They only have one, self-titled CD out, but Alexis is such an awesome band. They come to Ottawa like every second month and I hear the show kicks ass. I've got all the lyrics to their songs but there is no way I could ever tab their stuff. | |||||||||||||||
| 44. Caliber Love Letter | |||||||||||||||
| Sifting though weather photo albums looking for gloriously ages poloroids of places you have never been. A place to accept that you don't really exist. "Smile for the camera sweet heart, I really want to immortalize this moment" but jsut remember the first step in forgetting is destroying all the evidence, with friends like you who needs subtext? THIS IS A 44. CALIBER LOVE LETTER STRAIGHT FROM MY HEART. | |||||||||||||||
| Counterparts and Number Them | |||||||||||||||
| Jennifer, they lied to you when they said you couldn't breathe underwater. I lied, too, when I said I was hard because I'm softer than a thrift store sweater and twice as worn in. I was cast awa once but I will be found again. This I promise you. | |||||||||||||||
| Adelleda | |||||||||||||||
| This is really only all we have: day time, twilight, pitch black, night light. You had the coldest eyes and the softest touch: day time, twilight, pitch black, night light. These typed letters, beneath me. Fuck with these buttons and knobs long enought and maybe things will turn out fine. Hide behind your crystal screen and blow kisses at me. Remember what we said wouldn't happen? Write your name on my chest in kerosene. Spark a match and you will never be cold again. This is really only all we have: day time, twilight, pitch black, night light. You ahd the coldest eyes and the softest touch: day time, twilight, pitch black, night light. Gag and destroy me babe. I have a large collection of thunder that I stole from your windowsill. | |||||||||||||||
| A Dagger Throught the Heart of St. Angeles | |||||||||||||||
| Plaid skirts that hide scars walk in single file. Ties that restrict blood to the brain. Passing notes in math class, (freedom ware your scars of desire), it's a coming of age story, (freedom ware you scars of desire), conflicting impulses, (freedom ware your scars of desire) cuts seem to bend the sky. I've read this book before. Anxious eyes stare out of warped glass wating for the 3 o'clock bell. I'm trying hard to forget that cold October day, when love challenged freedom to a fist fight. Freedom look victorious, but no one was prepared for what would happen on that baseball diamond. Love reached beneath her plaid jumper, pulled out a switch blade, and drove it... directly throught the heart of St. Angeles. Any notion of self-government was left bleeding on the pitchers mound. | |||||||||||||||
| Polaroids of Polar Bears | |||||||||||||||
| Raped by my child hood? What the hell do I know about rape any way? Well I guess its fun to pretend, sorry. Just a thought that occured when I wasn't quite awake enough to dismiss it. It's so easy to cheapen an event by pretending it happened. Boring cliched self-destruction... I think I should start doing aerobics and the rest: boxes of cats, people with taz tatoos, explosive personalities, self-centered, protractors, brand new geometry sets, inability to do math, geography, polaroids of polar bears. | |||||||||||||||
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