..she fell in love with the drummer (xrebelheartx) wrote,
..she fell in love with the drummer

  • Music:

maybe you will always be just a little out of reach

Guster's new CD is amazing. I was apprehensive about it, just because sometimes I feel like I expect too much out of them and I worry that maybe someday they won't quite reach the level of incredible I hold them at -- and then they go and do something like start their own encore chant or open for themselves at a concert, or tell me they love my hair (!!), OR put out an album like "Ganging Up On the Sun", which I loved immediately. There are one or two songs that still haven't completely grown on me, but for the most part, I'm obsessed. Amber, Ash and I saw them do an in-store show/signing Friday at Tower Records in Philly -- so good. They tried to play The Beatles' "The Two of Us", but couldn't remember the lyrics, so Ryan looked them up on his cell phone and had the kid in front of us hold the phone up while they read the words. Hah. Then Brian wanted to play "Getting Even", but none of them could remember how it went. "Uh, we'll play a real song after this." It was super chill and just genuinely fun.

Theeennnnn I went to Def Leppard/Journey with Cristy and Colby, and Jesus Christ, I have never seen so many crazy drunk people in my entire life. It was ridiculous. And by ridiculous, I clearly mean one of the best times ever. Steve Perry is pretty much my boyfriend. I didn't know much Def Leppard before the show, but I felt like I didn't even need to -- it was killer to just listen to them/watch everyone go nuts.

Sometimes I try to write poetry. And sometimes when I do, I rip off Rebecca Pancoast (uh, because I want to be just like you. duh.)

So I remember
how it feels to be disarmed
(and yes, it repeats like blood: againagainagainaga)
and clutch the shuddering
tension of the steering wheel because
I've got the gas pushed to the
floor. Nothing
is fast enough now.

I'd like to hold the window up and
climb through twilight, when
the surface has stopped
burning and the hours are spread
like slow
(disguised as violet, as gold,
as bluefadingtoyellowfadingtowhitefadingtofading...)

When I can't breathe,
I think (of you)

of threefourfive a.m. floating
below conscious,
recognizing the push-and-pull of
your air on my back and seceding to
a rhythm that beats
steady, beats familiar, beats
clean till I'm covered and

I think still of
"I'm sorry" and of wanting
to pray out loud:

Please stay. I know that I
was made for mid-night waking,
for gears shifting, for rooftop
climbing and for the warmconstant
shiver that is your
skin against my
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