Friday, September 24, 2010

You say love's a third world country

Not a thing to do with art

Maybe that's the explanation

For your ever-starving heart

Cause the landscape's no companion

When it's so desolate and dry

That all your wandering leaves you

Barely brave enough to die

You tell me you're no lover

That I shouldn't wait for you

Well, darling I'm an awful listener

And I'm quite the watchman, too

So don't be surprised if when you

Finally come on home again

You find a candle burning

And a place to rest your head

Thursday, September 16, 2010


So what good is all of this, anyway, if it cannot even save a life?

Fuck fuck fuck.

What good is comfort if it cannot save?
What good is truth if it does not heal?
What good is healing if it does not remain?

What good is anything I do if the person it spoke to is the person it could not save... or heal?

But I know that I cannot save.
And I cannot heal.

And I know the fight isn't over.
The fight is never over.

And I just know that I'm not okay with this.

I want to show up to you disheveled.

I want to throw open my mud and blood stained hands to you

as I collapse at your feet

in one utter and completely

graceless movement


"Here is all I have for you!

Do you really still want me?"

I want my tattered clothes, and matted hair

to lay all my addictions bare

To prove how, left to myself, I've completely come undone

I've lost myself inside of substances and stories, people and things

And now

Every time you try to tell me who I am

I can't remember how to hear you

I want the sweat, pouring down my face,

To prove the frustration of what I couldn't bring myself to say

That I've used and abused all that's been given to me

Then hated it for being mine

Then wanted what wasn't,

Then stole it to make it mine,

And hated it just the same

And I'm so tired of doing this every single day

But truth be told

I'm not so sure

There's any other way

I want my bruises to tell of my victories,

But my scars of my defeats

Those seemingly permanent failings

That I have changed into my name

Because those are the ones that I need so desperately redeemed

And if you are who you say you are

You said you'd clean them up for me

I want to bring to you my worst

Because I long to take you at your word

When you say the weak and wounded, poor and weary, sick and sore

Are those who are most welcome, most familiar with your door

And if that's true then I will run

With everything I have to you

It isn't much, my strength is gone, so limping will just have to do


First I need to know if what you're telling me is true.

Because try as I might, I just can't see

How Perfection

Could find anything that's lovely

In everything that's me

So please, I only ask one thing

And if you'll answer, then I'll know you can:

Will you just let me find my way to you

Exactly as I am?

For I want to show up to you disheveled

I want give you my defeat

So that you may even louder

Shout your victory

In me.

What fucking good is any of that, anyway, if it cannot even save a life?

Saturday, September 11, 2010

Yeah, this is about right.

"there is a chance that I am wallowing. all that sounds appealing is sleeping today. from 9,10,11... all good for sleeping. I got out of bed knowing that when I got home, I could go back to sleep. it is a constant fight and I am not sure against what. but I know that I don't want to write an exeutive summary or any sort of business plan. I just want to write a letter.


I hope this letter finds you well. I just wrote to say fuck you. I hope the sun is shining and the clouds are light and fluffy, and in reading this letter your day turns to shit. I hope that your eyes are soft as you follow the my sweet, sincere lines, suddenly breaking into little pieces that slide and slice down through your head, filling your ears and throat with stinging warm blood, thoroughly burning and trapping you in a moment that you already regret. You don't have a choice but to read what is written to you, right?

Fuck you. I hope you become so very familiar with the feelings that long for resolution just so the pain will stop and learn to feel all the numbing death that ensues when that which has words to heal refuses to speak."

(Letter by Lindsey Eggebrecht)

Friday, September 10, 2010

I asked a favour of you.
I told you what was important to me.
And you made your decision according to what was important to you.

On paper, it's nothing at all to be upset over.
Put plainly in black and white, I have no right to be angry.

It's just a shame that it had to be so goddamned disappointing.

And I'm only a little shocked, because I had a feeling this might be you.
I wasn't sure.
You don't get a good glimpse after this distance and time, you know?

But it was. It is. And that's the lot I've been given.

You're forgiven forever, but please leave.

This was all I needed to know.