thats it, i'm done. all my ex's they leave and they take my music with them. not my actual music (cuz you know i swap mp3's like saliva) but my ability to enjoy my music sans memories. it generally goes like this. if we fall in love, you get a band. if we date, a song or two depending on the strength of our connection. yeah, like that. my itunes is a menu of love past. like a thrift store of the heart. good thing i'm not bitter!

goodbye my songs, i've loved you well. goodbye to the magnetic fields, to morphine. farewell to the red house painters-- you were depressing anyway. no more suede, no more fucking...god who was that? i can't even remember but i know if i hear the song i'll be immediately ensconced in a visceral memory sammich complete with corporal sensation. hello, and now i'm living in a big apartment on prospect street with gabriel's father making bad art and exchanging earnest and naive thoughts on life.

petty poignant. maimed on a cellular level. can i have a partial lobotomy please?