When you lean in for a kiss, it’s a moment of empathy. You can’t just be driven by your own desire, or you’ll be going nowhere. Finding that empathic moment, that’s the hard part, not pursing your lips. That’s not hard at all.
by krisis
Sometimes i think it’d just be easier if i sat here and just communicated with myself and the people on the computer who i can’t ever touch. Of course, songs don’t come from sitting in a room with just yourself; you at least need issues to stew over. Not that i don’t have any issues… god knows i have issues. To be shockingly honest, i should definitely see a psychologist every once and a while. But i don’t … i couldn’t. The things that make me what i am are so buried that i barely can remember them all at once, let alone rattle them off in a chronological list. But that’s not what you do at the psychologist … of course, they aren’t the great Oracle either. They can’t answer any question you can’t answer yourself, just point you in the right direction.
I get this feeling before i write a song… like i have all sorts of static electricity charged up and it’s be released as soon as my pen hits the paper. Words and phrases buzz in my head until finally the tip touches down and the flow begins. All charged up.
I babysat some people on acid once. That is… i babysat them, and they were on acid. I don’t know exactly how it all wound up starting, but i was so interested in watching them, as if their outsides were going to churn and reshape the same way their vision did. And, that night i truly came to believe that drugs are all in perception. There came a point when my sleepless haze mixed in with their ramblings and i opened my eyes and saw what they saw. Not in the vivid life-life colour that they described… but just the possibility. Yes, the wall was dancing like a ghost under a sheet. Yes, those lights left trails like a comet. But, eventually i fell asleep.
I wish someone was taking video of my first kiss. It’s like i lose a little of the image quality every time i play it back in my memory, until finally i’m just imagining it. Instead of seeing her face draw close i just imagine us in a pose like any barbie and ken doll can achieve, substituting my idealized picture for what actually happened. Maybe it was awkward instead of artful, but that momentary pause that came with the awkwardness meant everything, and without it i don’t have anything left but the trace left from the words she whispered in my ear. They’re still ringing.