:( i miss my old friends

7

I actually had a dream about them?? doing this?? last night?? I mean it’s not very funny but. there u go

hope you feel better anon!! ;v;

VLIVE - NAMJOON CHAT ROOM

↳ everyone
↳ are you listening to spring day well?
↳ amazingly it seems like the day has cleared a little
↳ how’s YNWA (in english)
↳ hope yall like the album (in english)
↳ thank you for listening
↳ namunamu (in japanese)
↳ 💜💜💜💜💜💜💜
↳ I miss my friends too
↳ everyone too
↳ I miss my old friends (in english)
↳ but feels like you are all my old friends. kinda (in english)
↳ have a happy valentines day
↳ 🍇🍇🍇🍇I don’t see the chocolate emoji so I’ll give you grapes
↳ I’m a grape!!
↳ 🍇💜😘

trans; @hobuing | do not repost

  • Bronwyn: Imagine if someone handed you a box of all the things you have lost throughout your lifetime.
  • Jacob: It would be nice to get my sense of purpose back.
  • Hugh: My childhood innocence! Thank you for finding this.
  • Enoch: My will to live! I haven't seen this in 15 years.
  • Emma: I knew I lost that potential somewhere!
  • Horace: Mental stability my old friend!
  • Miss Peregrine: Kids, could you lighten up a little?

to you (unfinished, off the top of my head)

It all started with some friends and a van
a kick drum inside my ribs
Preaching electric into a microphone stand
Raise your red plastic cup
And Turn the laughter up
We fell asleep in the grass on the summer fest days
You’d never guess I’m still trying to get my head screwed on straight
All us believers still believe
Everytime we sing “two more weeks”
Someone shoulda thrown us in a cell and swallowed the key
Somebody shoulda told us to leave em be
The only news we tuned in to was the traffic update
Nothing feels as close to home as nightime windows down on 88
Lax to berlin and back
Wake up on the west coast inside a flask
The good books in the drawer next to the bed you pissed in
passports a blur, full of stamps from places I missed you in
They’ll tell you everything about last night that you forget
Pack your suitcase, joes in the back smoking a jazz cigarette
They hated me before they ever loved me
I’m not ready for things to change
I miss you missing me in the good old days
Got stuck in the cell of you and me
I guess it still beat solitary
—–Worry worry
Put my head in such a flurry
Freckle freckle
What makes you so special——-
One of these days yr gonna wake up in heaven
Laugh about that night you got four stitches above your eye
when they let the guitars fly
Never trust a band that wouldn’t bleed for you
Never believe in anyone who wouldn’t drive through the night
(To you)
They never tell you in school you’ll feel so alone
Wake me up again when were in the same time zone
The way I’d take a cornfield over a coast
Mulitply me times what you adore most
There were nights between yellow lines
When I confessed to you riding shotgun asleep under purple skies
They say
You get what you get
Well we Got lost in the middle of nowhere And you almost quit
Tonight Come together
Come apart
You can get lonely when u
Only read the charts
Called everybody I knew in this life
Can we get it together just for tonite

I miss old friends and “play it agains”
Please Send my love,
to everyone above

— 

Pete posted the above to one of his secret blogspots (deleted long ago) on August 13, 2008. This has always been my favorite. A few things:

  • This was posted just before the release of Folie A Deux was announced, while the band was still working on the album, and was titled “to you (unfinished, off the top of my head)” (the you presumably being Patrick who was using the words for lyrics **I’m going to edit myself here and add that it can also be a broader “you,” meaning the fans). You’ll see a lot of lines from Coffee’s For Closers in here and the chorus from w.a.m.s
  • During the Save Rock and Roll record cycle, Patrick mentioned revisiting some of Pete’s older lyrics and finding some that he had initially dismissed for dumb reasons like being irritated with Pete over something else.
  • Cut to American Beauty/American Psycho and you can a slightly modified version of the line “When I confessed  to you riding shotgun asleep under purple skies” has made it into “Favorite Record,” along with references to “windows down,” “drive through the night,” and “play it agains.”
  • There are a lot of references in here to the band’s connection with/devotion to the fans–“All us believers still believe every time we sing ‘two more weeks’,” “Never trust a band that wouldn’t bleed for you, Never believe in anyone who wouldn’t drive through the night (To you)”
  • In this interview, Pete mentions “Favorite Record” was the song that almost didn’t make it on to AB/AP but that it won out because it felt like a song that was for the fans.
I miss you wanting to talk to me. I miss our friendship. I just miss us being close I guess.
—  I miss my old best friend and when I try to get her back nothing works.
And I know that my poetry usually makes no sense, it’s a thing called love that compels us to keep reading. Would you care to know why my favorite color is red? I used to have a friend named Kevin and it was his favorite color. He was the flamboyant and most colorful of us in the group. Popular with the ladies and loyal to his friends. I was the one in the backseat laughing to their thoughts when I really had none of my own. Maybe that’s why I enjoy writing so much. Maybe that’s why I love the color red. He painted his room red once, I remember things changing right around then. The drugs were getting a little heavier even with his teenage youth, the drugs will rip right through you. Painkillers will kill your emotions, you don’t want to feel a thing. I can relate to Kevin, I fucking love painkillers too. I shut myself off from everyone, but occasionally I enjoy the company. I’m awkward and my thoughts are kinda dim, so I always liked being around him. Are you familiar with the literary term foil? A foil is a character who contrasts with another character in order to highlight particular qualities of the other character. I feel like he was like that for me. I always saw myself as a little too blue, I wanted to be something worth loving, I wanted to be a little more like him, I want to kiss life into everything, I wanted to live, I wanted to be more than a shadow of a group of peers that did drugs and listened to melancholy and nostalgic techno after school hours. I don’t know how he’s doing or what he’s up to. The last thing I heard was he’s into needles now. Rumors plague this tiny town, we were raised from imperfections and we grew up to taste cigarettes that numb our gums. He had the kind of laugh that made you want to be his friend. It’s funny though, none of my friends initially liked me. Until they got to know me, empty and hollow, a sponge– the one who listened to the problems, never really any of my own. I get lost in my thoughts, I know. My poetry is scattered, I know. I don’t convey structure or rhymes, I don’t hide in between the rules. My words are more scribbles than they are truly masterpieces. Would you like to know why I write? I used to know someone that said the shoreline was like a bed and naps were always possible– she waited there everyday for inspiration. She would tell me the tiny stories inside of her head that had nowhere to go, it’s funny. I never really listened to her, I just enjoyed the company of love and to be loved. Love, what is it? When I wrote my first poem for her, I didn’t know where it came from or why I wanted to write it. I just knew that I had to write it. It had to be done. I had to read it to her. Let me tell you, if your first poem was a love poem, it was probably the most cringe thing you’ve ever created. Ever. Period. But still, I loved it. It was bad, but it had feelings. You always miss the feeling more than you do the person and that’s the saddest thing I’ve ever had to realize. It really shouldn’t be, but it is. You never really understand your mistakes until it’s just you. You only want them back when you’re alone. It’s been so long, I don’t keep track of the days anymore. Hell, she’s married now. I shouldn’t be writing this. She’s going to read it anyway. It doesn’t matter at this point. I guess she left poetry inside of these palms for good measure, she loved attention. A lot of it. The more, the better. Maybe I stopped paying attention. Maybe I got too comfortable. Maybe that’s why I love writing poetry, in a way it just means that I still love her. Lost kids who didn’t know how to love, another foil. You know, I never really liked to read books until I met her. She had a smile made from your doggy eared books, you know, your favorite line you always had to reread or quote during a conversation. She had the kind of laugh that made you want to get in on the joke even though you were the one telling it. I loved that laugh almost as much as I loved Kevin’s. I don’t talk to these two anymore, I don’t remember much about the memories, only the feelings that they left. You can’t find loyalty amongst pill users, they always use. Trust me, I know. I’ve been swearing off painkillers for months. You won’t find a love like that again because every relationship is unique in its own way. You can’t recreate the old flames with your new ones. You need to move on. I haven’t really lived life. Maybe you’re just like me. Maybe you’re stuck at a job that you don’t like and maybe life just doesn’t make much sense. So you blackhole more drugs to ease the disaster that is you. Nothing hurts, you just don’t want to remember anything that might hurt– right? It really shouldn’t be, but it is. I listen to music more often than I converse with people. Music influences my soul in a way that people cannot. I just turned 24, but I’m still a little confused about who I am. Does any 24 year old have their shit figured out? Do you ever feel like your dreams and aspirations are slowly dying? I’ve always felt like an old man. I’m boring and I don’t dance too much, the only thing good about me is my writing. It’s the only thing I’m half decent at, but I hate that too. I don’t answer anonymous questions anymore because I feel like my thoughts aren’t good enough. How can I help you if I can’t even help myself? Red rose petal poetry pressed onto the stove kind of writing– it really shouldn’t hurt, but it does. I’ll always miss the days when things were simpler. I didn’t care as much. I didn’t smoke as much. I didn’t think as much. It was just simple. No hard facts, just some stupid kids getting high behind a dark house and running into ghosts in every room. No broken hearts, just some teenagers who wanted to figure love out with a knife in hand waiting to hug each other. I’ll pry the knife real slow and we’ll call it love kind of love, ain’t it love? I love you doesn’t even sound right anymore, so I’ll say nothing. I miss my old friends, but we’ve changed so much– I wonder if they’ll even recognize me. My life is insignificant and minuscule, but we must all seek to find our purpose, to bring meaning to the clutter, and to add more fire to the chaos that is life. I don’t want to die angry, I want to die with a smile. You don’t get to do anything twice, you don’t get to correct your mistakes– so make enough for your self-reflection drunk nights. You don’t get to unlove people, so pick the right ones to fall in love with– don’t worry, you won’t need to remember all of their names, just the feelings. You don’t get to unfriend people, they’ll always be a part of you. A part of who you are. A part of who you will come to be. I keep slipping into the darkest parts of my mind and call it a life. I’ve been reading this book and it told me to dig deep. Why do I write? Why do I enjoy the burn of love? Over a few thousand poems, but 99.9 percent are indeed about love. Why do you want this kind of life? Well, darling– These words are as much yours as they are mine.
—  zero point one

When your day was supposed to be all about studying but you somehow end up in a baseball game with your best friends under a stunning sky.