Posted in Music Mondays, My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., Poetry, The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

Come join me on Facebook!!

I have made the decision to finally create a Facebook page to help spread my blog! I currently have “0” likes, and I don’t see that really changing beyond a few people. Still, I think it’s a space where better conversation can occur (I read every comment I get, but I’m not the best at always responding!)

If everyone could do me a favor and please share my blog and Facebook page with your family, friends, or strangers who look like they’d enjoy a trip through my head, I will be forever grateful! And while you’re at it, please also follow me on Twitter!

http://www.facebook.com/thatlittlelightfromyourlampshade

Twitter – taylorfinn0810

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., Uncategorized

The long weekend has finally come, 4 straight days with no work, and I couldn’t be any more of a piece of shit than I am right now.

Is the light from my window beginning to reach my eyes? No, that’s the artificial light from the lamp beside my bed. Should that make such a difference in how I start my day? I would like to be greeted by something a little more comforting than this light that is a lie. It shouldn’t mean anything to me, no, but still I find it a little bit more than upsetting. Disturbing. Unsettling. How can we as a people be happy with such false artifacts, false signs of life, surrounding us in our daily lives? The real can wait behind the security and convenience of the fake. Fake, like their smiles in the face of their flickering false lights, burning fluorescent light bulbs that line the ceilings of the bars and basements. Fake. How do I know if what I am feeling is nothing more than a false light, a fake… 

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., Uncategorized

It’s dark before 6, and these blinds block all light from the streetlights below, but I’m still holding onto the edge, buoyed by this tiny light slipping out from my lampshade.

Slip past the guards, the listless bodies thrown haphazardly across any surface this apartment can provide. Open the gates, mindful of the squeaking hinges, remaining a shadow until the door is in the past. Do not linger, for that is how regrets are formed, and you have no strength left to fight another losing battle. So for now walk it off, stretch out your mind in those rainy skies, feel the pressure of the autumn storm, a gentle touch compared to the enormity of your disdain for your own presence. You are trapped within your skin, so the scars all make perfect sense, in your own corner of the world. For now, just breathe; don’t start running until you are quite sure you are ready to finish this race, because once you start it can only end 1 of 2 ways – you win, or you lose. Some people will argue that just finishing the race is all that matters, but that’s the most ignorant bullshit you will ever hear. It’s completely self-serving and devoid of real meaning in the face of the journey – the destination is the same for us all, so the only thing that does matter is how we run our own races. So the choice is clear, and the shortcuts are right there; every New York City Skyscraper, the kitchen counter-tops of cooking enthusiasts, rows and rows of sweet relief lining store shelves, so brightly lit and inviting. Take a break, you’ve earned a rest, but don’t linger, don’t give yourself the chance to second guess a solid decision; the evidence speaks for itself, and these scars scream out the verdict, “Guilty Guilty GUILTY!” Give yourself the short rest required to build up the stamina, then it’s off to the races. Again, it doesn’t matter how you get there, just so long as you get there quickly, so please…let me get there quickly…