A study:

I thought I had already written you, you sly little entry that slipped through the judgment of the button marked "publish."

-

We spoke of the sometimes unrecognized beauty in purposeful omission, and deliberately crafted syntax. There's beauty there, too, you know, even though I rarely exercise it as such. I want to try to write inconspicuously, directly; yet with poise and fluidity.


I hardly do anything alone, and today was no exception. I woke up and did something I almost never do. I played basketball. I'm not overly athletic, but I played games of 3 on 3 and 4 on 4 with people I didn't know. I then went swimming in a pool on the third story of a brand new building. I rode in a car to get groceries I desperately needed. Before I went in the store, I stopped and knelt to take pictures of legs and wheels of carts.

Before that, I asked "If you were me, what would you pick up at the grocery store?" I needed some inspiration. The only thing I got that I would not normally get is orange juice. You're right, your tastes are pretty simple.

I then proceeded to be unfocused on my homework, take a necessary nap, and listen to a few funky jams from "Antibilas Afrobeat Orchestra."

I'm going to try and attend a free show in about an hour.

I work tonight until around 4 a.m. with one of my favorite people, Tony Padgett. We have lots of fun working together.


This was a study in diction, in calculation, and in dedication.

I was thinking, and...

I guess after all these years, I'm still pretty proud to be straight edge.

Dangers.

You sang to me that "you are free," the "music is boring you to death." But for me, you see, it's just the goddamn kids. Us boring, boring, boring, boring, spoiled-rotten kids. Take. Take, take, take. Don't give back shit. All spoils. All gains. Just dicks. No brains. More pills. Less pain. Just amber waves of grain. We stuff our mouths until we burst. This is consumerism at its very worst.
Our hands stuffed so deep into the cookie jar. And no, we will not share. We all have too much. We haven't one desire. Us boring, boring self-righteous kids. Throw us to the fire. New sneakers, smaller cell phones, faster cars with larger rims. We filthy, stinking, scholarship punks. We watch them struggle for what we're
just given. I have nothing to complain about, but I know I'll still complain. I'm so bored with us have-everything kids. Put a razor to our veins.


Dangers, man. Dangers. So witty, so refined.




(an old one.)
Moving on.





Here's to looking misty in the January morning lack of sun.
Here's a thousand different reasons why tomorrow won't be any fun.
Because the area of quality's so goddamned fucking small.
A life composed of seeming meaningless,
dress undress, caress, redress.

Two trains have gone behind me.
Haven't turned around for one.
It's only been ten minutes,
window's blocking out the lack of sun.

It's not unordinary, It's 8:51 p.m.
Privately staring, sneaking glances at the man
who sits across the room from my eyes
Maybe I think you left me.

finish block upon block of building
to have your little brother push them all to ground
Ages, ages ages lost
Me not thinking now is dangerous.








(don't read into this too much.)

and now:
ransport, motorways and tramlines
Starting and then stopping
Taking off and landing
The emptiest of feelings
Disappointed people clinging on to bottles
And when it comes it's so so disappointing.

And today is:

today.



I was asleep during takeoff.

Let's pretend today is

yesterday


For the sake of continuation.

Until I get some stuff processed, the updates might be with the hipstamatic.

Let's pretend today is

I guess I've technically posted

I'm sorry, Kyle, I'm going to do this too.
For my own benefit as well.



These Lines aren't even, and the coffee was expensive. I only got a single shot and I won't even tell you the price. Chris and Kyle are two amazing brothers of mine. The time flew by us very quickly. As did my chair fall through the rotted boards.

Sorry for the absent-mindedness.

whoa.

This is what most of last night was comprised of. And it was pretty awesome.

good morning.

The Nothing That Kills:

I called and called and called.
I was so happy to hear something other than a record.

It turned into something unexpected. Welcomed, understandable, obviously neglected.


(not mine)
Maybe I fell too fast
Maybe I pushed you away


(mine)
There's no hour I would not wake up at.
There's no amount I would not pay.
There's no ticket too expensive
No phone call too late
There's no alarm I would not set
No gas tank too empty.
No night too late.

You might be able to guess where I'm going with this.

Remember that I was not even an adult yet. Remember that I knew nothing. Remember that now I think I've learned. Remember, please remember, that it's the nothing that kills.

Intensity is something that can mean different things. It means everything right now.
When I watch myself play drums inside my head. It's to that song, and it's me drumming with intensity. I'm almost crying because I'm all of sad, all of joyful, and all of angry. For all different reasons.

(The pictures are unrelated)

How can I make this entry be about something other than the coming year, decade, lifetime?
There's no way. I'm always talking about the future.

I was watching a video of Anis Mojgani do a piece called "Here am I." I can't help but repeat the last three, powerful phrases in my mind. His voice shakes and stands up, his body moves and places itself with every emphasis.

Already am, Always was, And I still have time to be.

welcome.
welcome. welcome.