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.

Well...

Tonight I was calling people, trying to see if anything was going on, when I realized I had almost come to the turnoff for my house. I pulled off, quite inconveniently, to a local elementary school, where I sat in the parking lot with my radio and interior lights on. I pulled my sketchbook from my bag and began to draw. Being that I am not very good with drawing still-life objects, and the visible objects in my car did not appeal to me, I sort of scribbled around, finally deciding I was going to, once again, write the lyrics of the song I was listening to. It's difficult to explain what I feel during these times. Prior to this, I was feeling just a little bit let down, frustrated and definitely out of place. The remedy is not in sight, at least not that I can see.

"Just don't become perpetually cynical."

Is it weird that I don't want to sing unless I believe the words? I don't think so, but the people looking at me might.

I'm happiest with an instrument in my hands, my mouth singing words I do believe and understand. I'm happiest with one eye shut, peering through glass into God knows what. I'm happiest with my legs moving fast, not forward you see, up, up down and around at last. I'm happiest with the ball beneath my feet, the words out of my pen, and my friends around me.