Just to clear the air.

Honestly, I’m embarrassed that I have to do this at all. But apparently I’ve established myself as a heart-sleeve-toting douche. Lol. No, the recent cover of Marvin’s Room by Drake that I posted is not a personal attack on any individual.

Obviously, in light of recent events, the content of the song seems to coincide with whatever feelings I should have at the present time. Fair. But, simply, they don’t. Yes. I rewrote the lyrics. From an incredibly detached point of view. In fact, the only reason I did so was because the original lyrics were, in my eyes, not relatable. I don’t drink, etc etc. Yes, I’m contradicting myself in the way that I take the lyrics. But only because it was so drastically unrelatable; in fact, Garageband was armed to record already when I decided to rewrite the lyrics. And not towards any particular goal.

I guess I just feel like it’s a little sad that because people feel they know me “personally” and thus everything I write (apparently) has to do with my personal life. If you’re like that, then put yourself in the shoes of someone who has no idea I exist. Say you happened to stumble upon the video. Assume you enjoyed it (to whatever minimal extent you’d like to). From this point of view, the lyrics just seek to convey a new take on the song.

But since you “know” me, these lyrics then become (for whatever reason) literary daggers that (also for whatever reason) apparently need to be aimed at someone. But I’m not the one throwing them. It’s those people who feel I’m trying to achieve a personal goal by posting the song. And I’m not. If you don’t enjoy it at all, fine. That’s entirely possible. But to believe that I’m doing it out of spite is horrible.

Yes, we broke up after fourteen months together. But why should that mean I am spiteful? I learned more from her than from anything else I have done my entire life. Most of all, I learned how to enjoy being in love. Yes, we were in love. Though I am no longer in love with her, I still love her and I always will. She was one of my best friends and I pray every day for her heart and healing.

So when I hear things that directly challenge how I feel in a way that someone else might know how I feel better than I do. After seventeen years of life, I feel like I know myself pretty well.

Most of all, however, I apologize for any confusion the song may have caused. I’m the only one to blame for whatever people may think. But either way, thank you for the continued support. If you’re no longer a supporter, I thank you for your support up until now.

-Carlo Nathan

Don’t read me!

You are the squiggles on my math homework where I fall asleep. You are the scratches on the wheels of the car I drive that isn’t even mine. You are the smudged sharpie lyrics on my desk, taken from songs I don’t even listen to anymore. You are the pair of headphones I used for years before one side broke (I still use them). You’re the guitar pick necklace I used to wear; that one I looked at a couple weeks ago and realized was never cool. You’re the free Wii remote jackets that Nintendo shipped me for free, I never ended up using them. In fact, they sent me four. I only have one remote. Take that, Nintendo.

And if you’re reading this with any preconceived notion that it’s at all about you, forget it. It’s not. I’m sarcastic, but this is serious.

Speaking of; you are the flames in the Gryffindor common room after Sirius’ head disappears. You’re Kreacher, before he found Mundungus. You’re Big Thunder Mountain in Magic Kingdom. I’m sure a lot of people like you, but I’m not a fan. You’re my dream girl. Because I’m writing to you, and I don’t even know who you are. You’re a mobius strip; ambiguous, something I don’t nor ever will understand. You are the red squiggles whenever I maek a typo. Make. You’re the illegible red markings on the English essays I never bothered to proofread. You’re the falsetto I don’t have when I need it. You’re the guitar string I break once in a blue moon.

And if you’ve thought at any point during this post that it’s at all about you, you’re wrong. It’s not.

I don’t know who it’s about. You may not even exist. You are Pluto after those scientist idiots decided to kick you out of orbit. Figuratively, of course. You still rotate and all that jazz. You’re the squeaky brake on my bike. You’re the day my training wheels decided to run away. Just kidding, I took them off. You’re the wallet that holds my coins in a little pocket without a zipper so they all fall out and all over the floor so I need to kneel down awkwardly as I pick them up and hastily explain to the person behind me that I’m sorry and sheepishly grin to the cashier who’s only received half of the payment she needs to create me the greatest mocha-infused chocolate-syrup-drizzled drink of the day. It’s all your fault.

I’m blaming everything on you, and you don’t even exist.

You are the free mp3 downloads I got when I bought my iPod. In fact, you’re the Apple stickers, too. Never mind, those are freaking awesome. You’re me when I play League of Legends and I start cussing and yelling because I am terribly terrible at clicking strategically with a little Bluetooth mouse on a little girl with a pet bear and an annoying voice. You are the solo I’ve never played and the band I never played with. You are the harmony to an array of horribly dissonant notes I never intended to play. But I did anyways, because I thought they would sound exotic.

I was wrong, and it’s all your fault.

You’re the straightener my mom bought me that worked great for all of two months and proceeded to descend into straightener hell. Or purgatory. The point is, you’re like the dull end of an HB pencil. I wish I knew what an HB pencil was. You’re the glue gun I forgot to put the cap back on; so when I used it the next time I got a great big surprise when my pens seem to have a sticky affinity towards my erasers. They don’t even go together. That’s you. You’re the origami samurai hat on my desk lamp. I forgot about it. Oops.

I forgot about you, and you don’t even exist.

You’re the girls the girl I have a crush on tries to set me up with. I just don’t like you like that. You are the shade of purple that’s really awkward and pink and just not manly at all. You are the blinds that cut my fingers when I slide against them too quickly to open the window. You’re that song from 2007 that everyone still sings. And yes, it annoys the heck out of all of us. You’re the American dollars in my wallet. I’m Canadian. You’re the moose stereotype, and the beaver stereotype; you’re every stereotype except the maple syrup one because I don’t mind that. You’re the last pearl in my green apple bubble tea. I can’t get you and when I’ve given up hope, I throw you in the trash.

And you come back, over and over again.

You are a cycle. You are the oppressive sun and thoughtless moon. You’re that Tin Man from Wicked; all heartless and whatnot. In fact, you’re the Lion and the Scarecrow too. You’re the awkward tissue that’s been used once but not enough to justify discarding it. So you just kinda sit there. And you sit there like a park bench after it’s been raining for a long time and it’s all kind of icky and gross and just not the kind of place you want to sit in the rain. You’re that umbrella with that one arm that’s broken.

You’re too much.

I still hate Tumblr.

But I figure there’s really no other place to write about this. So eh. I’ll be a hypocrite for a couple minutes.

Inspiration is fickle. It’s a lot like a candle. It flickers, it wavers, it dims and it extinguishes. It’s hot, painful; and sometimes it’s just not enough. This analogy is horrible. I apologize. Now I’m gonna digress. But like. It all comes together. Yeah. Shhh.

Work is an exhausting thing. Yeah, it sucks that I’m complaining, but just wait. It’s tiring, and to be honest, I never really want to go. I know it’s money, and I am thankful to have a job in the first place, no matter how wack or not wack it is. Haha. There’s a kid at my work who’s probably my age, or a couple years older. He’s got a slight mental disability; and with that, a slight speech impediment, I suppose. I don’t even know his name. He kind of just changes garbages and cleans, and such. But I passed by him one day in the back, and I smiled and said hello. And he grinned a subtle grin; but it was beautiful (in a manly way. duh). I asked him how he was, and he said he was good. And as I continued on my walk to the next room over, he remarked that a customer had gotten mad at him. I stopped and asked him what had happened.

The customer asked him where something was, and he (being new as he was), had no idea. And so he told the customer he didn’t know. And the customer (probably harshly) swore at him. I was disappointed (and a little disgusted, to be honest). I’m not.. good at reacting to people. But I expressed my discontent towards the customer to him, and he just smilled.

“Well, what can you do, right?”

I smiled, too, and managed a “yeah”. His positivity was inspiring. My shift flew by. How could I afford to feel at all exhausted or tired or diminished in my resolve when I am so privileged in life? And this boy, what more than me did he have?

Actually, it’s obvious. He was happy with himself and his life. He was overflowing in his positivity, and it was such a beautiful thing. This boy, whether he knows it or not, is a prime example of God’s love and positivity. I feel as if God carried my cross (however light it was) through my coworker’s satisfaction. His cup was, indeed, overflowing. It was incredibly inspiring. So whenever I feel oppressed by my circumstance, I remember his (and His) happiness.

And with that, may God be praised.

ps. I still hate Tumblr.

oh, you’re just so intriguing.

i find it kinda funny how you tweet more when we’re fighting; kinda like you don’t need me or something. but you don’t. we’ve established that already. and it’s cool that you’re tired of me, i just wish you had the nerve to say it. since i’m writing this, that makes me a hypocrite. and that’s all i’ll ever be!

too much

My mama said, “life goes on,”
And I nodded and spread out my wings
So I left the nest, her only son
Do birds only leave in the spring?
I fell from the sky, a bullet of blue
Shot from the mouth of a gun, that’s where you
Found your old pride, oh she didn’t hide
The lovers we thought we knew

I think it’s best,
To lay them to rest
They won’t rise now, they’re dead
Like the sun in the west
But nature surrendered,
As winter defended
Its one only choice
To turn the men back into boys

Oceans between us,
Oh, you should have seen us
Ignoring the islands she grew
From seeds made from friendship,
She said it, she meant it
“I only want the best for you”

I’m not a hypocrite.

Wait.

maybe a hug would’ve helped.

nine months.

the rest of our lives to go.