i didn't care, you were the most exciting thing i'd ever known

[sailor]

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january

jonathan coulton, robots.txt.

head down, straight on, you'll be fine.

february

los campesinos!, for whom the belly tolls.

there is beauty in the world, i've been told by people i've nothing but trust in;
piled up with the cotton buds, among the toothpicks, inside the dark of the dustbin.
waited outside of jersey boys for what seemed like a year, a life in the vestibule—
scout yourself as a one-man team, you're a one club man denied a testimonial.

march

tall tree tales, scaredy cat.

there's gotta be a deeper meaning to all of this,
but you only ever find it in an open fist.

april

stars, from the night.

sixty flights, sixty setting suns in my rearview,
and the thousands of infinite hours since i last saw you.
let's be young, let's pretend that we will never die,
let's imagine no one is lost—
it's not easy, but we got to try.

may

the island of misfit toys, bath (audiotree live version).

baptismal fount, you flaunt your bounty ounce for ounce,
i want her body ouch for ouch, baptismal fount.
the beads of water are my friends' heads,
kissing my neck and chest, making my leg-hair thick with wet
and doubly cleansed.

june

the mountain goats, spent gladiator 2.

stay in the game, just try to play through the pain.
like a fighter who's been told it's finally time for him to quit,
show up in shining colors
and then stand there and get hit.

july

dermot kennedy, boston.

we were swimming out so far this time,
the sun and your eyes were the only fire.
pretty intimate so far, so i lit a holy fire.

august

opus orange, calm down.

so calm down, the sun is gonna rise.
don't cover your eyes, let the light in.
open up the sky, wait for everything to stop spinning—
wait for the nighttime, wait for the sunshine,
wait for the stars to collide.
wait for the low tide, wait til it feels right,
wait for the sky to open wide.

september

bo en & augusta, money won't pay.

money won't pay to dance the night away,
so forget the rent and get on down!

october

los elk, tire swing.

i was brought up to believe the world should be bohemian,
and if i had a feeling that i liked, i'd write it on the walls.

november

-ness, the propagandist.

when you're broken and looking for something to believe,
when you mistake truth for honesty.
hard to see you when you're acting like somebody else—
trust everybody but yourself.
and all the moments and the memories we used to share
were polluted by a tidal wave of septic air.
i start to wonder if you are still there.

december

dan & drum, wanna ride.

i think i'm metal in my heart,
then i start melting in your arms.
you come with me, you come apart.