WITH TIRED EYES, TIRED MINDS, TIRED SOUL

On music, songwriters, culture, names, and army jackets

WITH TIRED EYES, TIRED MINDS, TIRED SOULS, WE SLEPT

This is my aunt’s army jacket. It’s real. I like that it has a lot of pockets. The other day I thought to myself, “Imagine how many people died while wearing one of these jackets.” Bullets have probably put holes in every square inch of the fabric. I thought about soldiers freezing in the snow. I thought about the collar protecting the back of their necks from wind. There I was, standing on an American porch, like an idiot, smoking a cigarette. I put my cell phone, keys, bowl, and wallet each into a separate pocket, however they were meant for ammunition, grenades, and the essentials of war. Unlike most outerwear, the zipper begins at my belly button and there is a snap below it, connecting the coat tails. It is not very heavy. There is no down stuffing or any type of padding whatsoever. There are places this jacket has been that I will never see. Getting off topic, I thought for a second “Is there anything I didn’t do?” and then thought “Yes there are plenty of things I have never done.” After returning from a break it was the one thing that was most important. But then I thought maybe small things held some significance that added up to something. My fingers have become enchanted with post rock[1] man, mondo great for writing, or at least the act of writing. “its like the words are yours to write” sounds cheesy, then I thought “the words I write don’t go to this music” and that was it.
In my muha-fucking google chrome I’m on behindthename.com. Shits sweet, son. Lagina is a “combination of the popular prefix La with the name Gina.” It is of the English language, African American, and rare. I wonder if the I in Lagina is pronounced ee or ii? I would speculate that it is pronounced both ways, and possibly with higher variation in many different parts of the world. Layton is another cool name for a character. It means “settlement with a leek garden” in Old English. Oh old, old, old English, Bold English, Bad English, Sloppy English, WooWoo in your face English. You try taunting a bike cop. There are powers superheroes would kill to obtain, wired into his brain. He will say “What’s your name?” and you will be zombified by the sheer amount of auburn flowing hair-chest beard. Zombies! Video Games! Huh. We are all Roman soldiers wearing U.S. Army Jackets. Drinking Old English and riding bicycles. Old bicycles, like, cool ones. And our hair is too long, and we only care about the present. And its all both bad and good. Bad, Good, Bad, Good, Always the same. And not knowing which song to put on. Bad enough at a party, but completely alone. Meanwhile, acoustic guitar and the human voice create the most beautiful sound on Earth.

WITH TIRED EYES, TIRED MINDS, TIRED SOULS, WE SLEPT

There is something about songwriters, true one man bands, Dylan, Smith, the guy from Iron & Wine (Sam Beam, duh!) and Young. They stand out from the names of their bands. I think Johnny Cash was in charge of his music, and Keller Williams is my dawg. “Everyone is a fucking pro and they all got answers from trouble they’ve known and there all gonna say what you should and shouldn’t do, but they don’t have a clue” sang Smith. However, I am unsure if this is true. I thought “If I never illegally downloaded music as a teen, I would be retarded right now.” but then thought this idea was unfair to people who were born with any kind of politically correct health condition.
I like the song “When I’m With You” and I’m not afraid to admit it, but it kind of sucks. Best Coast fucking suck. However, I like to listen to some of their songs. I have been so over Surfer Blood for like so long. Land of Talk has been so good right now. This Microsoft word document already looks faded, worn, and tattered. It looks like it was printed in an office in New York City in 1988. I’m currently listening to the song “May You Never” by Land of Talk; loving the vocal harmony. I’ve told maybe one or two people about what I thought about the army jacket the other day. One of my friends was like “You don’t even know the things I think of” and I said “What?” and he wouldn’t tell me anything. I believe it’s best to somehow express almost all of the thoughts in my head. Make them into something, or something. I now will drunkenly acknowledge Socrates in this discussion and leave you with a question. Is it Socratic to think “I don’t really know what I’m talking about right now, but maybe somehow I really do”, but probably I don’t? I have no idea.

WITH TIRED EYES, TIRED MINDS, TIRED SOULS, WE SLEPT

[1] Rappers should spit over this shit.