1. |
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i had a dream about my wisdom teeth and what you mean to me. you never came to my front door, i was just asleep...
i never found love meeting eyes on the street, falling over my shoelaces, and only writing songs when i'm sad about having a dumb crush...
(i stick my head in the sand)
i had a dream about my wisdom teeth and what you mean to me. you never came to my front door, i was just asleep...
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2. |
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when you left me in the rain in PLEASANTVILLE,
i didn’t know what to say, i just walked to the train
stepped out of the diner, saw your name, saw your bike, saw your face headed to grand central, out of PLEASANTVILLE
on the ride back i knew you’d be back later today
when i first met you vacuuming, i couldn’t hear what you were saying
later you told me all the shit that went down at SUNY PURCHASE
my friend once again at SUNY PURCHASE when neither of us are in PLEASANTVILLE
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3. |
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your intentions are disguised
i waited for you late last night
but today i spent the day inside
i don't understand why you couldn't say hi
didn't go to your show but you came to mine
you look me in the eyes and....................
ooooooooooo
we talked on the internet and it didn't get past that
met up at the show
didn't know who you were for like three hours
but you knew who i was
you came to my show and somehow didn't say hi
your intentions are disguised!
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4. |
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working days at b****
honesty
could be hard to find here
split my lip on the street
caught in my teeth
honesty, honestly
crushes are distractions
you know that best
could be hard to find here
crushes are distractions, you know that best
crushes are distractions. i agree with everything you said, keep thinking about you in my bed, no matter how hard i try to do anything instead.
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5. |
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everything i had split in half. every song i sing suddenly became ben's without much context.
without much context, you send me a text. i read it, i misinterpret it.
everything you say i take the wrong way, every day i grow more and more mystified!!!
everything i had split in half. every song i sing suddenly became ben's, and he didn't know what to do with them. so, he gave them back when i asked.
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6. |
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you make me feel like cornmeal and i quite like my current shape; unmolded by the hands of others, takes a long time to bake.
entitlement is a funny thing -- you have it most when you think you have it least (no need to text me).
if you hate new york just leave for california
your air of importance will just feel warmer
entitlement is a funny thing -- warm hands help me catch a cold every october.
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7. |
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on the bowery, everybody wears the collars i forget the names of
me, going rooftop to rooftop, quietly
how you know it's serious: i put on my coat, enter the room
not sure what i dream about, kind of disappears like u
dedicated to the one i love: the wave around citifield nine times
& having an unlimited metrocard is luxurious, but having an unlimited metrocard directly conflicts with my desire to walk everywhere, every block in manhattan
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8. |
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if i knew you at summer camp, i couldn’t help but think we would have held hands, walking up and down grass paths, past the olympic pool.
if i had known you at school, i couldn’t help but think you would have walked me to class. holding my books, walking up and down tiled hallways. we eat lunch on the staircase.
“we’ve been orbiting each other for a while” so i’ll just ask, "in what way?" who is the larger mass? who is capable of sustaining life? who is saturn, who has rings? “i’m surprised we haven’t met before” is some other thing.
I COULDN'T HELP BUT THINK THESE THINGS WHEN YOU TALKED TO ME LIKE THAT, UNTIL 2 AM, ALL THE WAY BACK FROM BOSTON
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9. |
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10. |
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self preservation prevents me from asking why, and i'll just let you know i'm listening to meatloaf in the shower. i'm the queen of the eleventh hour.
watching jet planes, feeling insane. everything flies by.
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11. |
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where were you with 12 roses? i heard you paid in cash.
you didn’t walk three miles to be here, you didn’t walk a block.
if you are silk, i can be sharp.
how can i be so sure i don’t want to lose?
i am the stale bread thrown at pigeon feet
at least, that’s how you treat me.
if you are the punch, i am the bag.
if you are the bleach, i am the rag.
floating no more, i demand answers and felt wrong for doing so.
where were you with 12 roses? i heard you paid in cash. you had twelve singles and spent it on dumb flowers for no one but yourself. if you are the beach, i am the sand. if you are my friend, i am a fool for believing that.
if i am sand, stale bread, and bleach, i guess i already know what that makes you and you know what that makes me.
(sand, stale bread, and bleach)
where were you with 12 roses? i heard you paid in cash.
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12. |
power dynamics
02:01
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i was told the other day that you lied to me as to not shift our power dynamic. i haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since. in the moments of downtime it’s not what i think about but when i am getting ready for work at night it’ll pop into my mind. i’ll pack my bag, make my lunch, curse you out a bunch (to no one but myself)
it’s not all white t-shirts and tie dye
it’s not all magazines about white wine
i can’t say for sure with any definition or brevity
only understanding the negative space around me
it’s not how i try to occupy my time
i’ll pack my bag, make my lunch, curse you out a bunch (to no one but myself)
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13. |
interludes of victory
01:29
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YOU SING SONGS ABOUT ME
I'M CAUGHT IN BETWEEN
MOMENTS OF AGONY
INTERLUDES OF VICTORY
OR DID I MISUNDERSTAND AGAIN?
BACK TO SQUARE ONE OR ONE THOUSAND
AGONY, INTERLUDES OF VICTORY
MISSED CONNECTIONS ON THE BUS; I TRY NOT TO THINK ABOUT IT TOO MUCH
MISSED CONNECTIONS ON THE TRAIN REALLY FUCKS WITH MY BRAIN
PROGRESS IS A FEW STEPS IN ANY DIRECTION
YOU SING SONGS ABOUT ME
I'M CAUGHT IN BETWEEN
MOMENTS OF AGONY
INTERLUDES OF VICTORY
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marbling New York, New York
driving in the tri-state at night when the traffic finally lightens up after the worst rush hour you can remember. on your
left are 18 wheelers and on your right are pickup trucks and a dog is sticking its head out the window.
booking: marbling.bk (at) gmail (dot) com
photo by olive lagace
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