These God Damn Autobiographies (Abridged) from Tobin Johnston on Vimeo.
Song Initial by taken from Mckenzie Stubbert's Album "That Is To Say".
These God Damn Autobiographies
I have no excuse for silence
so I wrote down a few of my thoughts
August
the month of
A gust, august, a ghost, a guest, a host, a home, a house
You asked me once
Would I die for love?
to answer you I wrote my own obituary
In school they teach you
The first sentence must grab the reader
and so here it is-
“What else could we have done, we were only children?”
when I finished writing this line, I had aged ten years
Eugene
I got the fuck out of there
thank you and now
goodbye, adieu, adios, forever
even if I ever return, we won’t,
we won’t recognize each other
September to December of ‘08
I ran ‘till I was out of breath
I ran straight to the end of the year
All the way to California
Barely there but not all the way here
from everythingunderwater and grey rain
to
a sun, bone white, hung indifferently above interlacing strip malls
But the sun was a poem as well, it read
survivor’s guilt is the prize of those who survive
and if you walk out of the desert, you remember most the taste of water
January
there some deceptions and fictions of course
you could tell I was a little off
but I was hoping you thought I killed a man with my bare hands
in an illegal cage fight
the only thing cooler than a jailhouse tat
is not going to jail
Blue period
a meaningless solution
not suitable for children or pregnant mothers
maybe too much porn
and dark ideas
Shall I live and not die
Shall I live and not die
Shall I live and not die
Shall I live and not die
Ashley, Idealism and the month of April (as if anything is ever ideal)
Have you ever seen an artist with grey hairs on his head?
you only think you did
but as it turns out
it was just a clever ad for cigarettes
Thank you David Bazan
I owe you a coke
Shadows must dance, they have no words to give
but I am not a shadow yet (or at least, this is what they tell me)
they tell me- I have no excuse for silence
I bought oranges at the produce stand you worked at
you got them for free
because you worked there
but I split what I bought with you anyway, anyways,
any
way
And you became
the heroine of an imaginary novel I am writing in my mind
Here is the first sentence-
“A girl in love with the waters of the Puget Sound want
only a stove to set a teapot upon.”
I keep my words in jars
these faded Polaroid days
glass jars
ones with metal lids screwed tight
And I try to ignore my fear of hammers and stones
When I wake up before you
the taste of desert is in my mouth
and I walk through the quite rooms
I promising the silence
I will do this better this time
I confess to the bathroom mirror every single morning
