Leif's Journal [entries|friends|calendar] Leif [ userinfo | livejournal userinfo ] [ calendar | livejournal calendar ]

[29 Aug 2004|09:47am] [ mood | lick em' bitch ] i am an indie snob! How indie are you? test by ridethefader You're just too cool for school, aren't you? You're pretty narrow minded and opinionated with regards to music (and probably most other things as well). But you're allowed to be, because you really are better than everyone else. You take pride in obscurity. You probably prefer vinyl too, you elitist bitch. i never do this shit any more. But this was just too gOOD and i'm bored off my ass at work..i never knew these things were so fucking accurate.. HAVE A NICE DAY FUCK YOU

[26 Apr 2004|08:24pm] [ mood | complacent ] [ music | Bright Eyes- When the Curious Girl Realizes She's Under Glas ] Sunrise, sunset. Sunrise, sunset. Swiftly go the days. Sunrise, sunset. You wake up, then you undress. It always is the same. A sunrise and a sunset. You are lying while you confess, keep trying to explain. The sunrise and the sun sets you realize and then you forget what you have been trying to retain. But everybody knows that it is all about the things that get stuck inside of your head, like the songs your roommate sings or a vision of her body as she stretches out on your bed. She raised her hands in the air and asked you, When was the last time you looked in the mirror? Because you have changed. Yeah, you have changed. Sunrise, sunset. You are hopeful and then you regret. The circle never breaks. With each sunrise and sunset there is a change of heart or address. Is there nothing that remains? For a sunrise or a sunset. You are manic or you’re depressed. Will you ever feel ok? It’s a sunrise and sunset, your lover is an actress. Did you really think she would stay? For a sunrise and sunset. You are either coming or you just left but you are always on the way. Towards a sunrise or a sunset, a scribble or a sonnet. They are really just the same. To the sunrise and the sunset. The master and his servant have exactly the same fate. It’s a sunrise and a sunset. From a cradle to a casket. There ain’t no way to escape. The sunrise and the sunset. Hold your sadness like a puppet, just keep putting on the play. But everything you do is leading to the point where you just won’t know what to do. And at that moment you may laugh but there is someone there who will be laughing louder than you. So it’s true, the trick is complete. Now you have become everything you said that you never would be. You’re a fool! You’re a fool! Sunrise, sunset, sunrise, sunset. The sunrise and the sunset. Sunrise, sunset. Go home to your apartment and put the cassette in the tape deck and let that fever play. Sunrise, sunset. Where are you Arienette? Where are you Arienette?

[06 Apr 2004|10:34pm] [ mood | awake ] [ music | Led Zeppelin- Going to California ] Bright Eyes-Waste Of Paint I have a friend, he is made mostly of pain. He wakes up, drives to work, and then straight back home again. He once cut one of my nightmares out of paper. I thought it was beautiful, I put it on a record cover. And I tried to tell him he had a sense of color and composition so magnificent. And he said "Thank you, please but your flattery is truly not becoming me. Your eyes are poor. You are blind. You see, no beauty could have come from me. I am a waste of breath, of space, of time." I knew a woman, she was dignified and true. Her love for her man was one of her many virtues. Until one day, she found out that he had lied and decided the rest of her life, from that point on would be a lie. But she was grateful for everything that had happened. And she was anxious for all that would come next. But then she wept. What did you expect? In that big, old house with all those cars she kept. "Oh!" and "such is life," she often said. With one day leading her to the next, you get a little closer to your death, which was fine with her. She never got upset and with all the days she may have left, she would never clean another mess or fold his shirts or look her best. She was free to waste away alone. Last night, my brother he got drunk and drove. And this cop pulled him off to the side of the road. And he said, "Officer! Officer! You have got the wrong man. No, no, I'm a student of medicine, the son of a banker, you don't understand!" The cop said, "No one got hurt, you should be thankful. And you carelessness, it is something awful. And no, I can't just let you go. And though your father's name is known, your decisions are yours alone. You are nothing but a stepping stone on a path to debt, to loss, to shame." The last few months I have been living with this couple. Yeah, you know, the kind that buy everything in doubles. They fit together, like a puzzle. I love their love and I am thankful that someone actually receives the prize that was promised by all those fairy tales that drugged us. And they still do me. I'm sick, lonely, no laurel tree, just green envy. Will my number come up eventually? Like Love is some kind of lottery, where you can scratch and see what is underneath. It's "Sorry", just one cherry, "Play Again." Get lucky. So I have been hanging out down by the train's depot. No, I don't ride. I just sit and watch the people there. They remind me of wind up cars in motion. The way they spin and turn and jockey for positions. And I want to scream out that it is all nonsense. And that their lives are one track, and can't they see how it is all pointless? But then, my knees give under me. My head feels weak and suddenly it is clear to see that it is not them but me, who has lost my self-identity. As I hide behind these books I read, while scribbling my poetry, like art could save a wretch like me, with some ideal ideology that no one can hope to achieve. And I am never real; it is just a sketch of me. And everything I have is trite and cheap and a waste of paint, of tape, of time. Sometimes I park my car down my the cathedral, where floodlights point up at the steeples. Choir practice is filling up with people. I hear the sound escaping as an echo. Sloping off the ceiling at an angle. When voices blend they sound like angels. I hope there is still some room left in the middle. But when I lift my voice up now to reach them. The range is too high, way up in heaven. So I hold my tongue, forget the song, tie my shoe and start walking off. And try to just keep moving on, with my broken heart and my absent God and I have no faith but it is all I want, to be loved ad believe in my soul. None of you are going to read this, you will just look at this picutre. So just so you know Conor Oberst is a fucking genius...

[06 Apr 2004|10:03pm] [ mood | gone ] [ music | Bright- Waste Of Paint ] She is a flower and I am a flower and we are all alone...

[23 Mar 2004|09:33pm] [ mood | lost ] [ music | Counting Crows- Walkaways ] I've gotta rush away, she said, I've been to Boston before and anyway, this change I've been feeling doesn't make the rain fall No big differences these days, just the same old walkaways Someday, Im gonna stay but not today... "In eleven years it's gonna be 1984, man. Think about that!"- Russel from Almost Famous

[20 Mar 2004|02:08pm] [ mood | "Dude-ish" ] [ music | Dispatch (Album: Who Are We Living For) ] Bright Eyes- Nothing Gets Crossed Out Well, the future has got me worried, such awful thoughts. My head is a carousel of pictures. The spinning never stops. I just want someone to walk in front and I'll follow the leader. Like when I fell under the weight of a schoolboy crush. I started carrying her books and doing lots of drugs. I almost forgot who I was, but came to my senses. Now I'm trying to be assertive. I'm making plans. I want to rise to the occasion, yeah, meet all of their demands. But all I do is just lay in bed and hide under the covers. Yeah, I know I should be brave but I'm just too afraid of all this change. And it's hard to focus through all this doubt. I keep making this "To Do" list but nothing gets crossed out. Working on the record seems pointless now. When the world ends, who's gonna hear it? Well I'm trying to take some comfort in written words, yeah, Tim I heard your album and it's better than good. When you get off tour I think we should hang and black out together. Because I've been feeling sentimental for days gone by... all those summers singing, drinking, laughing, wasting our time. Remember all those songs and the way we smiled in those basements made of music? But now I've got to crawl to get anywhere at all. I'm not as strong as I thought.  So when I'm lost in a crowd, I hope that you'll pick me out. Oh, how I, I long to be found. The grass grew high. I laid down. Now, I wait for a hand to lift me up, help me stand. I've been laying so low don't wanna lay here no more. Don't wanna lay here no more. Don't wanna lay here no more. Don't wanna lay here no more. No more... more...But if everything that happens is supposed to be and it is predetermined, can't change your destiny. I guess I'll just keep moving and someday, maybe, I'll get to where I'm going... We could all learn a lot from the Dude...Just think about it... "Fuck it, man. Let's go bowling."

[18 Mar 2004|10:54pm] [ mood | Jesus-like ] [ music | The Shins- Gone for Good ] people say i look like Jesus.  Whatever you might think i just would like to let you know that i'm probably not the best person to take after, look up to, listen to...as you might do with a "Jesus-type" figure.  And if you see a light over my you're either crazy, or it's just jake's flash... Bright Eyes- untitled Lovers turn into monsters at the loss of all affection Almost like it was the affection that kept them from being monsters And I could have used some warning I was on that porch all morning Smoking cigarettes and sinking deeper into doubt Could it be I am mistaken, have I stolen somebody’s baby? Is it possible for two people to need the same thing? It's just the lines, they get so blurry Between what is once, and now required And I don't know on which side his heart falls But I know where mine is buried And it's so far from any wanting Yeah, it needs this to keep beating It won't go on without it If I'm still weighed down with subtleties Then I'll just come right out and say That I think that I deserve her More than anyone deserves anything Maybe I am selfish, but there is no way to share this There’s not enough to go around, I don’t care who else gets hurt But I’m still sick with empathy because I was stood in his place I spent a year quietly dying while he let go and ignored her And I’m sure that there are reasons for everything that happens And absence leads to adoration, yeah it’s nobody’s fault But now there is no way to change this So I just photographed and framed it And it’s hanging in a hallway That we have no right to walk back down But I hope that he feels better but I’m sick of all the drama I can’t stand to see her crying, I just want this shit to end And I want a place to hang out where record players play out And there’s a thousand movies rented for a thousand nights with her

[17 Mar 2004|03:46pm] [ mood | drunk ] [ music | Cursive ] So i was lying there right, unconscience of course, for i was dead, and all of sudden, by some power unknown to me, i came back to life.  Now this may seem quite rediculous and unbelievable and i can assure that it is.  But what fun would it be to tell you what really happpened.  But forget all that, the point is i'm back, either out of sure boredom or my longing to be just like everyone else, i'm really not quite sure....

last entry... [16 Mar 2004|10:29pm] [ mood | gone ] [ music | Counting Crows- Daylight Fading ] and here is the end to the very short lived live journal of Leif Sunderland...sorry jake for wasting your time making you set it up... so with a short and simple phrase..."I want to say good-bye to you Good-bye to all my friends Good-bye to everyone I know" God this thing is just was too overwhelming... Goodbye... ... ... Leif

[16 Mar 2004|07:08pm] [ mood | ha ] [ music | Ryan Adams- Don't Ask for the Water ] From the movie "Good Will Hunting":      WILL            So what's with this place? You have a            swan fetish? Is this something you'd            like to talk about?                         SEAN            I was thinking about what you said to            me the other day, about my painting.            I stayed up half the night thinking            about it and then something occured            to me and I fell into a deep peaceful            sleep and haven't thought about you            since. You know what occurred to me?                         WILL            No.                         SEAN            You're just a boy. You don't have the            faintest idea what you're talking about.                         WILL            Why thank you.                         SEAN            You've never been out of Boston.                         WILL            No.                         SEAN            So if I asked you about art you could            give me the skinny on every art book            ever written...Michelangelo?            You know a lot about him I bet. Life's            work, criticisms, political aspirations.            But you couldn't tell me what it smells            like in the Sistine Chapel. You've            never stood there and looked up at            that beautiful ceiling. And if I asked            you about women I'm sure you could            give me a syllabus of your personal            favorites, and maybe you've been laid            a few times too. But you couldn't            tell me how it feels to wake up next            to a woman and be truly happy. If I            asked you about war you could refer me            to a bevy of fictional and non-fictional            material, but you've never been in            one. You've never held your best            friend's head in your lap and watched            him draw his last breath, looking to            you for help. And if I asked you about            love I'd get a sonnet, but you've never            looked at a woman and been truly            vulnerable. Known that someone could            kill you with a look. That someone            could rescue you from grief.            That God had put an angel on Earth            just for you. And you wouldn't know            how it felt to be her angel. To have            the love be there for her forever.            Through anything, through cancer. You            wouldn't know about sleeping sitting            up in a hospital room for two months            holding her hand and not leaving because            the doctors could see in your eyes            that the term "visiting hours" didn't            apply to you. And you wouldn't know            about real loss, because that only            occurs when you lose something you            love more than yourself, and you've            never dared to love anything that much.            I look at you and I don't see an            intelligent confident man, I don't see            a peer, and I don't see my equal. I            see a boy. Nobody could possibly            understand you, right Will? Yet you            presume to know so much about me because            of a painting you saw. You must know            everything about me. You're an orphan,            right? Will nods quietly.                         SEAN (cont'd)            Do you think I would presume to know            the first thing about who you are            because I read "Oliver Twist?" And I            don't buy the argument that you don't            want to be here, because I think you            like all the attention you're getting.            Personally, I don't care. There's            nothing you can tell me that I can't            read somewhere else. Unless we talk            about your life. But you won't do            that. Maybe you're afraid of what            you might say. Sean stands,                         SEAN (cont'd)            It's up to you. And walks away.

props to jake....thanks again [15 Mar 2004|09:24pm] [ mood | envious ] [ music | Damien Rice- The Professor ] Bright Eyes- A Perfect Sonnet Lately I've been wishing I had one desire Something that would make me never want another Something that would make it so that nothing matters All would be clear then But I guess I'll have to settle for a for a few brief moments And watch it all dissolve into a single second And try to write it down into a perfect sonnet Or one foolish line Cause that's all that you'll get So you'll have to accept You are here and then you're gone But I believe that lovers should be tied together Thrown into the ocean in the worst of weather Left there to drown Left there to drown in their innocence But as for me I'm coming to the final chapter I read all of the pages and there's still no answer Only all that was before I know must soon come after That's the only way it can be So I stand in the sun And I breathe with my lungs Trying to spare me the weight of the truth Saying everything you've ever seen was just a mirror You've spent your whole life sweating in an endless fever And laying in a bathtub full of freezing water Wishing you were a ghost But once you knew a girl and you named her "Lover" Danced with her in kitchens through the greenest summer But autumn came, she disappeared, you can't remember Where she said she was going to But you know that she's gone Cause she left you a song That you don't want to sing Singing, I believe that lovers should be chained together Thrown into a fire with their songs and letters Left there to burn Left there to burn in their arrogance But as for me I'm coming to my final failure I've killed myself with changes trying to make things better And ended up becoming something other than what I had planned to be All right I believe that lovers should be draped in flowers And laid entwined together on a bed of clovers Left there to sleep Left there to dream of their happiness

First Entry [15 Mar 2004|05:48pm] [ mood | blank ] [ music | Bright Eyes- something vague ] Let me start off by saying that Live Journal is the most asinine thing ever created. It can all be explained in the title. First off "Live": usually includes an audience, is usually open to the public, is for everyone to see, SPOTLIGHT. "Journal": secretive, something that people aren't supposed to see, you're deepest thoughts, NO FUCKING SPOTLIGHT... With that, you could call this the live journal against live journals. The AIM profile thing doesn't leave enough space so now i must resolve myself to this. I really don't know why, because no one reads what's on my profile anyways, so now i will just have more stuff for people not to read... And since i am completely against the concept of sharing what is in my head with you, this LIVE audience, i will use other people's words...that you won't read...but i will over and over and over and over....

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