ian logan, the boy satellite.

About Me

she whispers something in my ear.

i stay up way too late. i am too nervous to initiate anything at all. some days i'm brilliant, some days i'm not. once i feel safe around you, you own more of my heart than you'll ever know. i destroy myself. but i'm always trying to beat my demons. i am writing a book called
fever dreams from the death of a typewriter.
"when you think everything comes in blinking lights. you are the sun and you have your hours. or a little closer: one hour. the idea of that is moving and glowing. chasing suns and keeping our lanterns. and with this, it's still here. in this single passing of suns, it feels okay. it will be okay for now. right now is that glow. its just hard to explain. i know it's wrong for me to catapult like this. i'll likely wake up miserable. or brilliant and unattached to this. the unknowing of all knowledge. of all understandings of distances. falling out of my toes. but i'm counting the rings of light in my water. i just know which way the light was bending. the colour of our breathing. the ways she didn't move. this is how i think of the moment and smile. this is how i feel it all."
i like to believe in interesting things. beautiful things. i like to feel the sunset. to stare into glasses of milk. to hold soft spots for the colour of orange juice. i trace my fingers in circles along the floor. when its quiet. i'm watching the colour white bend and dance into many things. i smile at horoscopes. i enjoy tarot cards and watching people in trains. things I don't understand. standing at the edge of the water, watching the ocean whisper as it passes. guessing its secrets. i believe in the dark. there are questions everywhere. things move when you close your eyes. i'll now believe that everything came to exist when the planets sang in perfect concord. i fall in love with characters. i fall in love with moments. the beauty of things that move your soul. falling down, laughing underwater. the romantic ideals of coffee and all-night diners. the pretty girl at the coat check. writing on serviettes and the word 'cavalier'.

My Interests

the three minutes in which a bath is filling; one hand under the water, the exhaust hum, & the world doesn't exist.

late nights with alcohol (smirnoff and dessert white wines) & perfect moments.

escaping into my headphones.

picking through cheap lollies for the good ones, unwrapping aero bars, rearranging things, massive clean-ups (wherein it is at a dire point that cleaning is in order!), propping hands out car windows until they go numb from the cold, glasses of milk (with chocolate), clear skies, squishing the noses of cats (lovingly), book blurbs, collectives of people you understand to be another unique ecosystem, reading nutritional charts, old photos (circa the age of ten or below), car trips over bridges in the city by night, new houses with comfortable couches, summer nights, winter afternoons, autumn, lowercase letters, writing on serviettes, nights when the moon looms in full yellow bloom, thongs with jeans (or australian thongs, anyway), people who remind you there are interesting people still remaining in the world, the idea of walking around a lake on a sunny day, unplanned photos (the casualties of the myspace era), sweet chilli sauce, thinking about bees and fireflies, the perfect depth of ink on paper, new cards to lodge in my wallet (they start off sharp and clean), hoods up on windy nights, lightning, jam tarts, obscure quotes and alignments of poetry, empty roads and traffic lights at night, monopoly (again, by night), shopping, leather necklaces, dinosaurs (or our lack of understanding & perception of image), ice blocks in drinks, oriental print magnetic diaries, sleeping bags in the grass, freckles upon shoulders, words neatly crossed out, water splashing at the bottom of a shower, new microwaves, putting my phone back together (after dropping it into non-existence), easter eggs, exclamation points (sometimes), sticky tape, dress shirts & tees, horoscopes, hot chocolate with work buddies between breaks, looking forward to sleep, photographs from the grass' perspective, setting birds free from inside spaces, bad habits, chewing on thumbs, mental barriers, cognitive disarray, pretty exultant fallout, the smell before rain, people in trains, making you less sad.

I'd like to meet:

pretty quiet girls & cute nervous boys.

because words fail.

Music:

entirely too much. listing it all was too messy. and I'm sometimes sporadic in my tastes.

alphabeat
armor for sleep
bon iver
brand new
bright eyes
cat stevens
cinematic sunrise
coheed and cambria
cursive
dashboard confessional
fly upright kite
frankmusik
park
the postal service
the prize fighter inferno
the receiving end of sirens
saosin
say anything
the sound of animals fighting
thursday

Movies:

juno.
donnie darko.
definitely, maybe.
eternal sunshine of the spotless mind.
little miss sunshine.
garden state.
pan's labyrinth.
the science of sleep.
hey hey it's esther blueburger.
cloverfield.
hot fuzz.
st. trinians.
the breakfast club.
short circuit.

Television:

criminal minds.
how I met your mother.
that 70s show.

Books:

the perks of being a wallflower (I can't thank chelsea enough for this gift of knowledge & life;)

blue like jazz (thanks to chelsea again, & thanks to wit, for my 20th. a beautiful surprise;)

the catcher in the rye (a late-blooming brilliance & apparent herald to my above loved books;)

john dies at the end (via page-frenzies upon the internet;)

the amory wars (thanks to the prize fighter inferno & coheed and cambria.)

Heroes:

to write love on her arms.

mirrorworld.

said the gramophone.

My Blog

sfffffgghs

i want to trade this all away i want to be normal i want to be normal;;;fjfit's not normal to be this way......its always going to be the same.i need to go to gym i need to gy gmym.....g.ggg...
Posted by ian logan, the boy satellite. on Sat, 26 Apr 2008 09:01:00 PST

fever dreams from the death of a typewriter.

today was an odd morning. tired, yawning, and wander into the bathroom. mugsy and graeme playing mario kart. amy madly cleaning. a whirlwind of purpose. and i'm tripping over tiles. a shower. stare at...
Posted by ian logan, the boy satellite. on Sat, 26 Apr 2008 01:25:00 PST

fever dreams from the death of a typewriter.

i'm just warm and glowing. my cheeks are bright red from smiling. and i was watching elizabethtown and hugging the air. it was all just so pretty and amazing. last night was so pretty and amazing. and...
Posted by ian logan, the boy satellite. on Fri, 25 Apr 2008 05:51:00 PST

fever dreams from the death of a typewriter.

i am just buzzing. and listening to infadels - make mistakes. i remember why i loved this song so much... it's just brilliant. i am feeling quite alive.just had a really amazing night. because nothing...
Posted by ian logan, the boy satellite. on Fri, 25 Apr 2008 06:31:00 PST

fever dreams from the death of a typewriter.

i can't remove the time from my bones. every sixty moments etched in. a constant ebbing. and some days i will collapse on that chair and i will pull something out of my chest. one of these old bones. ...
Posted by ian logan, the boy satellite. on Wed, 23 Apr 2008 07:32:00 PST

limb market.

i suppose it's just a shifting of time. losing all my fingers, and that is aggravating. you'd try to understand, but i've already changed. again. there was a moment of bursting. for a moment it felt p...
Posted by ian logan, the boy satellite. on Sun, 20 Apr 2008 06:13:00 PST

a heavy season in curing.

i'm not upset. just worried about my friends, i think. i keep picking up on these words cast to the wind. so i'm not sure what's going on. i'm standing on the outside watching, i figure. so i don't he...
Posted by ian logan, the boy satellite. on Fri, 18 Apr 2008 12:20:00 PST

a brief forecast in sleeping.

today was a good day.
Posted by ian logan, the boy satellite. on Thu, 17 Apr 2008 10:07:00 PST

boy satellite radio transmissiones IV.

it's kind of like when people deal tarot cards. just because you get the Death card doesn't mean death, dying. it means transformation. it means changing things around and starting things new. somehow...
Posted by ian logan, the boy satellite. on Mon, 14 Apr 2008 08:37:00 PST

boy satellite radio transmissiones III.

when you think everything comes in blinking lights. you are the sun and you have your hours. or a little closer: one hour. the idea of that is moving and glowing. chasing suns and keeping our lanterns...
Posted by ian logan, the boy satellite. on Mon, 14 Apr 2008 07:19:00 PST