mydumbdonut asked: Hey. Is that Emma story from the new book?

The poem? Yeah!

New book is done!!!! Just sent it into my editor. Nearly a thousand pages. God, I love this thing and I don’t know what to do with myself right now! Comes out worldwide on January 7th. Mark yo, calendars, y’all!

“For months we played nothing but the silent treatment game, long, cruel, winter days spent justifying all of our wrongs and glorifying everything we thought we’d done right even if all of those things were just simple choices that anyone with a lick of common sense would do…Some nights she’d snore in her sleep and wake me up and I’d lean back against the cool, wooden headboard, and stare at her, knowing that there was nothing she was capable of doing that would ever stop me from loving her…For weeks, I worked on a love letter for her in private and for weeks, I couldn’t come up with good enough words and sentences that conveyed the way I really felt…It was maddening, it made me sick and furious, until I stepped back one day and stared out of the cabin window, and watched the sick orange and brown leaves of Autumn fall off the tree branches and float so passively and mercifully to their death…it was then that I realized not every emotion can be captured with words, not every scene can be described to perfection, and not every feeling is meant to be manipulated and used for your own selfish purposes…she was sixteen once and that summer, she worked at the towns swimming pool as a lifeguard, and she looked better in a bathing suit than any of the other girls that summer, or the summers before, or the summers after…little did anyone know that when she was ten, she nearly drowned in a lake and for two years, she wouldn’t go near water, not even the familiarity and comfort of the shower in the only house she’d ever lived in could give her the peace of mind to get wet again…it wasn’t until Joey Harrison pushed her into the swimming pool during gym class and she didn’t die, when she realized how silly fear can be and how our minds are capable of taking away the simple pleasure and fun of even the most innocent things…Not long ago I was at a show and this band refused to play any of the songs they were known for because they hated the idea of repeating the past, being stuck in a moment that was created five years earlier, and the crowd booed and the guitar player walked off the stage, and I appreciated the place they were coming from even though the only reason they were still able to play shows was because of everything they’d done before that…it’s a funny thing when life works that way…holding you hostage to history while demanding you evolve and remake yourself just to survive…In Lexington I met this group of teenage cowboys who talked about raiding their town on horseback someday then riding off into the mountains with their bounty and starting their own civilization…what’s not to love about the imagination, what’s not to love about dreamers, what is there to love about cynics, what is there to love about the dull, the shallow, and the defeated…not long ago I sat on a stoop in the middle of a rainstorm and wrote furiously in a notebook, cribbing my whole life story in the hopes that all the water that hit the pages would wash my life away…this is where we are, I guess…twisting in the wind…digging for our purpose, searching for a meaning, desperately reaching for anything, anyone, who can prescribe us definition and narrow our existence down to whatever two lines best describes the way they feel about us…You have to try really hard to be bored in life…and I wonder sometimes why a person who tries that hard to be bored can’t put that much effort into anything else…I don’t believe in the notions of fate or chance…I don’t believe in people who say they don’t know what they wanna do or don’t know what they’re good at…I judge people based on their own opinions of their own self worth, and I also judge the people who base their self-worth from the opinions of other people…and I judge them cruelly…hopefully one day, we’ll all make good on the promises we made to ourselves…and hopefully one day, we’ll all understand that every moment has the potential to be the catalyst to the future we daydream for hours about each day and wish for…two days ago I finished her love letter…it was on the third anniversary of the day we broke up…nothing I wrote could’ve changed our history…I only finished it to see all the things I never appreciated about her and took for granted…none of this will ever be easy…life will never, ever be easy…

killforthethrill:

shutmyplayboymouth:

❤❤

awww i fucken love when he says THISS !!!

Love this part too!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J2l3FY6K2IE

Anonymous asked: Is lamborghini dreams a real band? Or

Nah. I made ‘em up. But they should be putting out a new record soon I think.

Her house is white with green trim around the windows. It’s just the one story and it’s got a connecting garage and a basketball hoop in the driveway and there’s a pretty big porch with a wooden swing and a small, blooming garden in the yard.

     I stand at the door and wipe my face dry with my bandanna before ringing the doorbell. I can only imagine how fucking big of a pussy I’d feel right now if I wasn’t high.

     I’d prolly be hiding in my room at my dad’s kicking myself for not doing what I’m doing now.

     I ring.

     Here we fucking go.

     Exhaling a huge breath, the door opens and there she is, one of the prettiest girls I’ve ever talked to, standing in the doorway, smiling.

     Damn, I’m just thinking over and over. Like, why do I get to be here, why does she fucking want me here.

     Damn.

     “Hi, Jaime Miles,” she goes. “Again, right on time.”

     “Am I?”

     “Yes you are,” she goes. “And you’re right on time holding flowers which better be for me, dude.”

     “Oh these,” I say, feeling more sweat coming on. “Nah, I was gonna take these to Eddie after I left here.”

     She laughs.

     Great sign.

     My mom always says that it’s important to be with people who can make you laugh. It’s one of the most important things, she’s always saying.

     “And when you notice that the laughing is starting to disappear,” she told me once, as the two of us sat next to each other on a swing set in a park near our house, slowly rocking back and forth, drinking lemonade. “That’s a major sign the relationship has changed for the worse and everything you loved about it at first is probably not coming back. I noticed this too late with your father. It wasn’t until a few months after I had you that I realized he hadn’t made me laugh in over a year.”

     “How sad,” I said.

     “It’s a fucking tragedy and a nightmare when you watch the person you love just change to the point where you don’t even recognize them anymore or yourself. Yourself, Jaime. The person who sat there idly and did nothing while it happened. It’s so fucking tragic.”

     Back to Dominique’s now.

     “Get in here,” she says. “Now.”

     I walk in and she closes the door behind me and goes, “Eddie wouldn’t appreciate the real awesomeness of you bringing him flowers the way I fucking do right now, dude. He’d prolly just get really drunk and try to eat them I imagine.”

     “Shit,” I go. “You’re probably right. So what the hell, I guess I’ll just give them to you then.”

     “Smart move,” she says, as I hand them to her. She holds them to her nose and smells them. “Jaime…they’re so beautiful. Thank you.”

     “You’re welcome.”

     “You’re the first boy to ever bring me flowers.”

     “It’s what you do, right?”

     “I always thought it was what you do when you’re older, like dating after college older.”

     “Me and you are ahead of our times, I guess. I figure if we start with flowers now, by the time we’re their age, we’ll have seen the fucking world together. Dirt biked through Vietnam and written songs in some Paris loft.”

     She puts a hand against her mouth and shakes her head.

     “What?” I ask her.

     “Your words,” she says. “Like the ones I read on Tumblr. They’re perfect. You’ve got the grace of a poet.”

     I shrug. “Well…let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Dominique. I have to spell check most of my Twitter posts.”

     She steps into me and kisses the side of my mouth. “You look so awesome,” she says.

     “Yeah. So do you,” I say back.

     First of all, she looks way better than awesome. She really does. It’s impossible to really capture the way I’m seeing her so I guess her poet theory is out the window.

     She’s barefoot though and her toenails are painted light blue. She’s wearing this black sundress with white lace sewn around the bottom of it. She’s got this white pearl necklace with a cross attached to it that hangs down past her boobs, these white and brown feather earrings, and her fingernails are painted black.

     “Thank you,” she says. “I’m trying.”

     “You try the best then,” I go.

     “I’m gonna put these in water,” she says. “I’ll be right back.”

     “Word.”

     She walks into the kitchen, which I can see into, and she grabs this clear glass vase from the cupboard and fills it with water from the sink.

     I look around.

     This must be the living room.

     There’s a couple of sofa’s and a recliner and an wooden entertainment center fully equipped with a huge TV and a Nintendo Wei and a bunch of DVD’s and a stereo.

     “You want something to drink?” she calls out. “Water or a Coke or orange juice?”

     “Water would be cool,” I say.

     “You got it.”

     My phone buzzes and I look at it. A text from Eddie that reads: Good luck, dooooder. And don’t forget to ask her about doing a show with us before your dumbass splits. Also, maybe poke around and find out if her brother still wants to destroy me, you fuckin piegrinder, blubber cheek, worm dick.

     I just turn my phone back off. Was a funny text though.

     Then Dominique comes back into the room holding the vase and two glasses of ice water.

     “Let me help you,” I say, taking the cups outta her hand.

     “Thanks,” she says. “Wanna see the rest of the house now?”

     My heart just takes off like a motherfucker and rips hard again.

     “Sure,” I go.

     “Follow me then. And sorry ahead of time.”

     “For what?”

     “My room.”

     “What about it.”

     “It’s a total disaster,” she says, as we walk down a short hallway and turn left.

Jason myers

“Her name was Emma and her hair was black like the night and she rode a sick yellow bike with a wood basket on the front and there were two Nirvana stickers on it…It snowed for a month straight and with nothing to do, she dug an old photo book out of her closet and started crying before she’d even opened it…there was a time when everything she’d ever dreamed of having existed and she had all of it yet at the time, she’d never stopped to enjoy a single moment of it, she never even thought to think that this is it, this is my dream that’s come true…the photos tortured her and re-broke her heart all over…She vowed to never look at them again but when she tried to close the book, she couldn’t and the pain stung like a million bees attacking her skin and there she still was, the failure she’d come to accept… It was spring and I saw her running down this dirt road in a blue dress…Her hair blew in the wind and her body had all grown up…A year earlier I’d asked her for a slow dance at the annual Halloween party at the town’s community center…I was dressed up like the Karate Kid and she was dressed like Snow White…The song I asked her to dance to was Skinny Love by Bon Iver…I’ll love that song long after the day I die…She declined because she already had a man, he wasn’t there that night though, he’d been gone for awhile by then even if she didn’t care to count the days like I’d been doing…some day, we’ll be a thousand years older than we are now and I’m not sure we’ll be any wiser when it comes to the heart and when it comes to love…This is the story that never changes…You mark my words on that…A week ago I played a pick-up game of basketball and scored twenty-three points, afterwards, I jacked off in the bathroom of this park and I wrote her name on the bathroom stall with my come…it’s not often that you think about the same person so kindly, it’s not often that you don’t take the memories for granted the way you did the person once before…I dreamt once of driving through EL-Paso and staying there to be a drug dealer, it wasn’t so bad…I need New York like a need a blow job…I need San Francisco like I need Oxy…the dress she wore that day when she ran down the road was handmade by her mother…her mother made all of her clothes because they couldn’t afford to go shopping for anything new, in fact the last new thing she’d bought was an MC5 t-shirt because they were her favorite and she’d dreamt about being in their band every night for three weeks straight…In the end, Emma is just this girl, she’s a crush that won’t go away, and in the end, I’m just a boy, a boy who wishes he could’ve shoveled that snow for her…one day I’ll have someone to cook pancakes and sausage for, one day, I’ll get my slow dance and I’ll be stoked about it…Next spring, I’m going to Taipei cos Tao Lin wrote about going there in one of his books…Next winter, I’m gonna head to the Marshall Islands and go scuba diving through the remains of the all those world war two battleships…Tomorrow, I’ll eat ice cream for breakfast then go back to bed, the next day, I’ll Gmail chat with a stranger I met on Facebook and make her a shirt, buy her a poster, maybe send her some music…It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a bluebird fly…The next time I see Emma running, I don’t think I’ll chase her, I think it’s better if Emma just gets away…

Jason Myers

I’m thinking about making some sorta testimonial kinda page when I revamp my website, ya know, with people who’ve really like my books sending me a blurb. I’m also thinking about throwing photos of up of people holding my books or something. Like some sort of creative pictures of my books and what they mean to y’all. What do you think? Good idea or bad idea…

Anonymous asked: I AM SO GLAD YOU'RE ONLINE

Thanks…I guess.