Sean Taylor's Blog, page 3

What kind of lonely is your lonely?

    “Do you smell smoke?" and, "Does anyone smell smoke?” were the most commonly asked questions on the hottest day of the year. Some things are so alien to us, we will seek out tragedy to explain them.
    When he asked her to move over in bed, he didn't ask her to move over, he said, I can hardly breathe.
    Hypochondriacs are much more likely to overly self diagnose in times of extreme weather. She felt ugly, or maybe it was just unattractively old, when the heat expanded the tissue in he...

Do you see how this is a snake eating its tail?

"I think, they think I'm going to tell them that I love them, or something like that, and that's why they leave. And its strange to me, because I told them I write fiction, or that I wrote fiction once. Before I gave all that up to hopefully just be well spoken."

Enough wine to make mistakes

What's the high water point on that smile of yours? Is it on a rollercoaster as a child? Are you recklessly saving it for your wedding day? Is that fruitless? Unfounded? I don't think I got to see it. I don't know, but I've got some good ones locked up in my mind. I wonder if you'll find it in a mirror? I hope you get to see it. Your cheek muscles at full flex under the weight of your most happiness. The olympics of your smile, when you tensed and so tired yourself out on too much life for th...

i don't want to wait any longer

August 25th, carry me anew.

If you tell the truth, you don't have to remember anything.

i wish we would have arm wrestled
or thumb wrestled,
when we tongue wrestled
we both lost.

Falling out

In thirteen or so hours I will be jumping out of a plane. It is a great length to go for a new perspective. I know the Sean that lands will be a different Sean than the one that is jumping. I'm excited to meet him.

Album review, 'Water Dog' by Kelly Mcfarling

    There is no softer rhythm than the wind’s feet as it plays the dirt, and leaves, and beach. It collides and coalesces in this particular percussive fashion. I’ve come to know it, on my back and in the sand on Ocean Beach. Kelly Mcfarling’s, ‘Water Dog’ somehow plays the timbre of an atmosphere so low to the ground that I want nothing more than to listen to it face first in a field, eyes closed, and lips curled.

    She could play the tall-tale national park commercials on Neverland Island....

I've lost time.

A couple weeks ago I reviewed Hamilton for Theatrestorm, it wasn't easy and I didn't do it an ounce of justice, but my editor said it was my best review yet. Click here to check it out!

Also this song, this is my song, I love this song. The wit is utterly unrelenting, it is vulnerable and honest and particular. I'm totally rocking it when I bartend tonight at Churchkey.

I didn't ask to be skittish it just snuck up on me.

I have, I think, taught her to bite me less, and the scratching is showing less scars. 

If there is anything I most definitely have taught her it's that meowing will get you nowhere, and I fear that truth leads to an elevated sense of ennui.

And with that her path to nihilism is imminent.

The democratic republic of Liza's brain is a coordinated acceleration of collisions where evolution redlines the sincerity of a kind and cautious nervous system.

I don't know you very well but I sure enjoy looking at your face.

    There is something unsettling about a woman that doesn’t give off a scent as you lovingly tussle with her on a couch in her apartment. Across the street a hot red neon sign begs PSYCHIC. It had to be one in a million. Her underwear were purple, with a white lace fringe that burgeoned from the lip of her lazy jeans.
    When we got to her apartment she ran to use the bathroom, and on her way down the hallway she yelled, I just want gin, with a lot of olives, and a splash of soda water.
     ...