Thursday, November 6, 2008
Correction
I am not a John Cusack kind of girl. I am a Hugh Grant one. With that said, Hugh Grant does not exist. That's right, he is the elusive rabbit you waited around for every Easter. And let me tell you, I am sick and tired of waiting.
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Love songs for me
So check it, I was out for my night time stroll and I was feeling pretty blue, when all of a sudden it starts raining. And I'm soaking wet, and all of a sudden, I start to cry. And I'm wet and crying and all of a sudden, John Cusack shows up with an umbrella. And he comes over and kisses me, and all of a sudden Matt White is playing and the credits start to roll up.
A week ago my friends and I went out for a smoke, and ended up under the window of some John Jimi Clapton fellow. Wannabe John Jimi Clapton fellow. He was practicing guitar, which could easily be heard from two stories below. He played a few classics, AC/DC, police, some mayer too. The music was so chill we just sat underneath this guys window for about half an hour and listened. We considered throwing rocks, but thought that was too creepy.
There's something about a blues guitar that makes my heart melt, not only in remembrance, but in new desire too. I've been going back almost every night to Clapton fellow's home, and sitting underneath his window to listen to him play. Sometimes he isn't home, and I pick a hibiscus off of his bush, tuck it into my hair, and walk back home. Other times, he's trying to decide what song to play, and he'll play the intro to a few before settling on which he wants me to hear. I sit there and speak to him with my thoughts, and he speaks back with a string of broken chords. And I tell the hibiscuses how wonderful I think he is.
I'm in love with him.
I've never met him. I don't even know if it's a him, it may be a her. A very very old her. All I know is that they love classic rock, and so do I. And I have all of this love, all of this romantic emotion cooped up and no John Cusack to give it too. So I give it to Clapton fellow for safe keeping, and he doesn't even know.
A week ago my friends and I went out for a smoke, and ended up under the window of some John Jimi Clapton fellow. Wannabe John Jimi Clapton fellow. He was practicing guitar, which could easily be heard from two stories below. He played a few classics, AC/DC, police, some mayer too. The music was so chill we just sat underneath this guys window for about half an hour and listened. We considered throwing rocks, but thought that was too creepy.
There's something about a blues guitar that makes my heart melt, not only in remembrance, but in new desire too. I've been going back almost every night to Clapton fellow's home, and sitting underneath his window to listen to him play. Sometimes he isn't home, and I pick a hibiscus off of his bush, tuck it into my hair, and walk back home. Other times, he's trying to decide what song to play, and he'll play the intro to a few before settling on which he wants me to hear. I sit there and speak to him with my thoughts, and he speaks back with a string of broken chords. And I tell the hibiscuses how wonderful I think he is.
I'm in love with him.
I've never met him. I don't even know if it's a him, it may be a her. A very very old her. All I know is that they love classic rock, and so do I. And I have all of this love, all of this romantic emotion cooped up and no John Cusack to give it too. So I give it to Clapton fellow for safe keeping, and he doesn't even know.
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