foxgrove: misc

6

“I am an artist, so I really think all artists should do whatever they want. It’s either gonna be successful or it’s not, fans are either gonna get it or they’re not, you can argue and piss and moan about it, but ultimately… Bands are gonna do what they wanna do. Some of our fans piss and moan about the changes we’ve made to our band. No problem. Listen to the old stuff, come see us live, we still play old stuff, don’t listen to the new music. Or hate us! The other day Sara sent me this really funny snapshot of fans talking about our new record, and this one girl is like: ‘Do what I do, I just imagine that they died after Sainthood.’ Because she doesn’t like our record that much that she has to imagine we’re dead, and I told my mom, and we laughed till we cried. I’m not that invested in anything. [laughs] I don’t know if I’m even that invested in my own band that I would imagine I was dead because I’d done something I didn’t… I’ve made mistakes in the past, I don’t imagine I was dead.” (x)

8

I was 11 years old when I killed my first man. I remember the look in his face when the light went out behind his eyes. Such a sudden change, almost imperceptible, between life and death. And I felt ashamed. I had stolen from that man the most precious gift of all - life. But I also felt something else - pride, because I had taken up arms against someone who sought to do ill against my family. And I realized what I had done was necessary. You see I had replaced evil with death. And that is what the League exists to do. And I have killed several thousand more men since then. And the world is better off for it.

Found a portrait drawing of SNSD’s Tiffany when I was browsing through old albums in Facebook. Makes me want to start traditional portraits again!

in another universe,
we could have been each others’.

in this universe,
i look in the mirror at night in
the late days of january,
wondering why i ever thought
i would be lonelier
if i still talked to you.

in this universe,
i write your name on my arm
in thin sharpie marker
and i draw about you
in my old notebook.

i pull at a loose thread
coming out from my legs,
wishing for them to fall apart
so that i can destroy every single
nerve ending and cell
so that i can’t feel this anymore.

in another universe,
i pull at your dog tags
and laugh into your chest,
wondering why i ever thought
letting you go
was a good idea.

we hold hands and walk city streets,
wishing they were the stones we once
walked together.

in this universe,
i walk through the same stone streets
with someone else,
wondering how my laugh feels so different
when i don’t hear yours with it.

in this universe,
i kiss him to feel less lonely,
but it only made my heart fall apart
and my head spin
that i wasn’t holding you.

i remember the times you would
hold me like we had a tomorrow,
and my toes curl into my boots,
remembering the time i fell off your shoulders in the swimming pool
but trying to forget that fact that i refused to dive in
in the first place.

in another universe,
i would have told you that i loved you
on the roof of the shed,
when we watched the city lights glimmer
deep into the night.

i would have told you
that i couldn’t help leaving,
but it was a mistake anyways.

in this universe,
i look in the mirror
and smile for no reason.
i hold my friend’s hand
and don’t think of you.
i look through my summer pictures
and my heart begins to fill
instead of hollowing.

in this universe,
healing is often inevitable.
regrets cannot be dwelt upon
when there’s nothing left to change.
and i write my own name on my arm instead.

in this universe,
i take what i am given
and learn to run.
i know that maybe it was meant to be,
but you’re not the only one.

in this universe,
i learn to forgive myself
for not taking risks
i was not ready for.
and i learn to move on.

—  sequels, s.e