Repeat. Repeat.

Good evening.
Take a gander and the music I've played on repeat this past while.

shake, shake, shake bronze radio return

the persuaded faded paper figures

morning song le loup

crossfire brandon flowers

oviedo blind pilot

You're welcome & goodnight.

Morrow

Let me show you how thirteen hours of sleep is done.

This job makes me appreciate more and more the nice people who come in every day.

Next week is hazy, but I may be working another forty-eight hours. Which would be week three out of my last four weeks of doing so. Just let me work two days straight and give me the rest of the week off, please.

At the rate I'm going, The Shins' songs I have had on repeat the last couple days will be on my top twenty-five playlist on iTunes by the end of this evening. And I'm not even listening while I am at work.

Today I ballet-ed in my jeans and old ballet shoes. I can do the splits pretty well for not having tried in multiple years.

I am looking forward to tomorrow morning's self-taught ballet class.

48

This song comes on [almost] every day at work. It has a weird calming effect.

This song is my latest piece of approval.

My eyes are droopy. Not in a head-bobbing way. But in a my-bed-sounds-really-comfy-right-now sort of way. 

I'm at work. And will be for a while longer. Then back early in the morning. Wednesday/Thursdays are fabulous.

Someone is smoking in their room. I smell it in the lobby. I smelled it a while ago. We're a non-smoking hotel. But it's normal for people to walk in, ignore the "We are a non-smoking hotel" signs on the lobby doors, front desk, & in the rooms, along with the "no smoking" symbol on the room doors. It's a constant battle. But some people can't help it if their eyes go temporarily and sporadically blind every time they are within twenty-five feet of any type of lodging. I'm sure there is a medical name for it.

I will need a medical name to describe my condition by the end of next week. After covering for a coworker and working a lovely forty-eight hours. At least I'll be paid time and a half.

I will be paid time and a half.

Right?

Contour

Sometimes life feels like a contour drawing.

Lines everywhere. You can't erase them. You can only tune them out by drawing a new line.

But those overwhelmed lines spill an identity onto the page.

The lines don't always make sense unless you're looking at the whole piece.

Even then, there's still that sense of obscurity present.

I am not blogging while I'm at work.
My mind does not continue to revert back to the idea of eating, change, foggy futures, butterfly tomorrows, and the same song reeling over and over my brain [tuning out the brief language nearing the end of the piece, all the while].

Familiar Again

I know why I'm not a rock (indie, alternative, etcetera) star.

Because I don't have red (red-orange, anything near it on the spectrum) pants.

I love finding lovely music. When a song just connects. Just fits snugly into place. When I wonder how it was that the song existed all those moments without my knowledge. When I choke as I realize there was a long stretch of time that didn't contain the song, at all.

It is exhilarating when you relate to those words and the familiarity of the melody; when you discover that another soul may have a similar piece of your experience embedded right in their clasp, even when you are not even sure you completely understand the experience. Or even the words, themselves.

But you still connect, all the same.

Sun Day

Sundays.

They're my favorite day of the week.

They have been for a while.

I've waited all week for Sunday.

I'm not anticipating anything special.

But it's finally here.

I'd put a smiley face. 

But I'm pretty sure I've never put one on here.

So I'll put this, instead.

Apartment

Lovely artwork.

Film work.

Colors.

Sound.

Repeat

Let me be perfectly clear.

I'd rather stay at home today
and listen to this and this on repeat.

Blue Skies

I can be pretty picky when it comes to covers. The music kind.

But I found this little cover today. Actually, like eight minutes ago. And I am kind of a fan. I like the original, and this version is swell.

Postcards

I was as ornery as a goose last night. And stressed. And stuff.

Then I listened to Pandora. Beirut's station.

The songs were nice, but my poultry-like orneriness was still there. And my stress. And stuff.

Then this familiar song came on,

And for some moments, I was content. Complacent. Relaxed.


Then I was reminded of this nice little piece of visual and melodious poetry.


A sidenote: The instrumental parts, especially in the last chunk of the song, are purely excellent and heart-squelching.

Speaker On Ear

To whom it may not concern,

If you are anything like me, you see someone post a video or song and you disregard the idea of ever playing it. Here is another opportunity to do so.

And here. If you want to ignore a whole playlist I just made. Collected from Pandora bookmarks/a couple other songs that I wanted in the new playlist. [Forewarning for the first ten seconds of Imogen Heap's appearance in the playlist, if you have sensitive ears like me. Other than that, I think we're good.]

P.S. My room still reflects a certain air of pink.

P.P.S. The postal service keeps me on my toes.

P.P.P.S. It's making my toes ache, a little.

P.P.P.P.S., etc: 

I miss ballet.

I miss poetry.

Decision-making's not my cup of tea. My cup of milk, if you will. 

There are 77 posts in my draft bucket.

I'm sometimes glad clouds aren't made out of cotton candy, or else it would be a waste; I wouldn't be tall enough to reach up and eat them.

Eardrum art could be my diet.

I actually do hope you take a taste of that playlist up there. It's playing to my brain and pink room right this moment.

As expected,

Bethany

Drapery

This picture just drapes my brain with this song. Every time.

Houdini

I don't know what it is about this song.

But it kills me. I can listen to it over and over again.

My mom says that she'd rather listen to The Fray. "Any day."

 So...One long-awaited point for The Fray.

One blow to Foster the People.

Somethings, Otherthings

I can't handle it. I wish I had money. For this. How simply wonderful would that even be?

          My heart is melting.

Read this. I've already written chapter eight. And you probably haven't even read chapter one. And Kiyna's already working on chapter nine. [Ehem. Right, Kiyna?]

Also, photo shoot on Friday. I think it will be a grand event.

And I think this is a fitting song of the day.


And finally, here are some recents:

Hearing: Gone

You know the feeling when you have to turn the headphones' volume up for a video, then when you go back to your music it deafens you? I just re-discovered that feeling. Now I think I'm deaf, guys.

I haven't poemed anything in a while.

I haven't shot anything in a while.
             The camera kind of shoot.

Here is a small playlist of music I blast in the car, in my headphones, or otherwise.

My new deodorant smells like laundry detergent. A lot. It's true. Whether you wanted to know about my deodorant scent or not.

I think I just became a follower of like 548 new blogs. More or less.

I just like people. And their blogs.

Weezer & Parties & Feet

I dreamed about Weezer music two nights in a row. Two mornings in a row, I woke up with Weezer songs in my head.

I'm listening to my Weezer playlist on Grooveshark right now. I haven't in a while. Lately, I have just swallowed the two Cd's in my car, instead.

Hey, we partied today. Niece's birthday.

Jillian's hair looks ridiculously long in this picture. 

This has nothing to do with the party.

We trampolined at the party.

So I took pictures of jumping feet.

And my own feet. I do this a lot, I've noticed.

Now go listen to some Weezer.

Two Introductions

Oh, how I adore music videos.

They're fantastic.

This one is new. Brand new. Today new.

I enjoy it. It's nice. But I probably still like their "Bloom" video best. Although, this one has the same air of artistry. And the song makes my heart squelch.

                     

           Also, a couple comrades and I are compiling a story. Read the first chunk of a chapter here.

           I think you may enjoy it. Because I did. And now I am supposed to follow that up. Wish me luck.

Every Teardrop is a Waterfall

Children, Coldplay is quite alive.

New single. I'm still deciding its value.

Too bad I am broke. Because even if I decide that the song is worth purchasing at this time, too bad for me.

But. New album soon to be released, apparently. I am quite alright with this newfound fact.

Long, But I Loved Every Moment of It

So, I went to a concert with Alex.

First we went to a barbecue; free food for the ticket winners. I fell into that category. So we ate food. People were drinking beer. We drank water. It was a great time.

Then we headed over to the stadium. We got some nosebleed seats, generosity of the radio station. Luckily, since we were on the farthest row back, we had a wall to lean our backs against. It made me not despise the bleachers, as much. Luckily, the sun was out. Luckily it was warm, for a sec.

For a while I wondered if The Fray was even going to perform. There were no t-shirts with the much-loved band name written on them, tempting me to empty my wallet of forty dollars.

But, never fear. The lovely screen above the stage soon displayed "The Fray", causing an abundance of joy and glee to emanate from the blonde girl in my seat. And the songs were fabulous. And they ended much too soon.

Then it was eight o'clock with an hour to spare. So we wandered around for a while. And Alex even saw someone she knew. I didn't see anyone I knew. So I frowned and thought, "Where are some people I know?"

And then someone tapped me on the shoulder. Someone I knew! I turned to the tapper, and I was soon disappointed when a woman began telling me about a modeling agency. I bit my lip a lot, trying to hold in my laughter. Due to the bizarre, foreign conversation. I dunno; maybe this should be normal for a tall girl.

Well, she finally left, and we were left to more wandering. So, what did we do? We bought a pretzel. That, apparently, was going to take five minutes. And we waited, tapping our toes, watching the passersby. "Where is someone I know? Where is someone I know?"

Before I knew it, my finger was pointing in the air. Pointing at a human. A human person. A normal guy in a normal hat, wearing a normal leather jacket. Normally walking into the stadium.
"Wait..." I said, thrown off.
"No..." Alex responded, in disbelief.
"Yeah..." I returned, my voice wrapped with unbelieving laughter.

And then we were chasing after Isaac Slade, lead singer of The Fray.

He wandered down the aisle, said something to a seated woman, and then sat down. We stood not far away, gawking.

"What do we do??" I looked around, and nobody else was much paying attention to him. Except for one lady. She kept looking over at him.

Then Isaac stood up, looked at the ground, and started walking up the stairs.
Alex didn't miss a beat. "Hey... could we get a picture with you?"
He looked at us, then said, "I better not," shaking his head sympathetically.
"Are you sure?" Alex said, probably with puppy dog eyes.
"We could do it up there," he replied, nodding his head up the stairs.

So we sprinted up, and Isaac walked up, like a normal human being. Then he took a picture of the following with Alex's camera:

Elated. Really. How did that even happen.

It happened. We ran out, Isaac departed, and spaz session began. 

Then Isaac walked back out for a second and saw our excitement. It was embarrassing. But that's okay. It was a good time.

Then we enjoyed the U2 concert. 

Neither of us ever recovered.

Truther, Truther

Seeing balloons fly up, up, up to the sky makes me glum. It's a lonely, helpless sight.

Maybe someday I will unpack my college things.

I shdould go a sddya withought backespacing anythign I type.

          But not today. I will spare you.

I lie to myself, a lot.

My indecision gets in my way, a lot.

Why is it called 'Bucket List'?

I had a Bucket List, once. I am not sure where it went. It had things on it like, "Paint a mural." and "Find a needle in a haystack."

I have a playlist to share [again]. It's a different piece of work. More bookmarked songs from Pandora. Only they are not songs I listen to repeatedly. Well, some of them I listen to often. If you'd like to hear, here you go.

How does one's bedroom become so horrendously messy when one's possessions are not yet unpacked?

I miss my apartment bedroom.

But it's okay. I have my room, here at home. It's pink. Barbie pink. Not for long. I am going to take a paintball gun to it, pretty soon.