the way to blue

every now and then, all you hear is the sleight of the hand in the middle of a beautiful song. the squeak of calloused fingers on bronze wound strings. i can thank my mother for that one.

i can't find it in myself quite yet to write an entire song. i've gotten the itch to produce something. i can come up with mediocre music without too much trouble but the lyrics are something altogether different. i'd love to be a storyteller... oh god, what the fuck am i saying. if that dryer doesn't shut the fuck up, i'm going to hurt somebody.

i am taking a short story workshop this next semester. not too sure what to think about that. i can tell a drawn-out story about nothing to anyone who asks but fiction is something different. dialogue? i have no idea. write about what you know? i always figured that would be my excuse for buying a motorcycle and doing drugs. what better research, i mean. and that's sad, i know. but what do i know? not too much really. unless i wrote one of those... odd, important stories about nothing much at all. which i think i would fail at.

i dreamed last night i was a small child. i was following an adult around with a lot of other children, the top of an office building in a city. lots of windows and such. we were working on producing a newspaper. walking through crowded offices overlooking other buildings small and brightly grey below, the sky a clear smogless blue. there is artwork taped to the side of office-grey filing cabinets. artwork of our own style, fingerpaintings. one of the children was late or had fucked something up so i spoke up and badmouthed her to the adult. i'm not going to say who it was :)

i want to climb a mountain just to jump off. and climb it again all the same. i shouldn't start sentences with 'i want'... i hate those sentences. someday i'm going to buy a parachute just to jump off things. there is something unconsciously impossible about jumping, though. a wall that is hit. like the first time you ever kiss a girl, your body won't listen to how simple it is. jumping more than diving. there is something terrifying about drowning. if i were to die at the conclusion of a gigantic fall... well i couldn't think of any more enjoyable way to go.

i need to start running. i need someone who will wake my lazy fuck ass up at six in the morning and shove me out in the cold to run a couple miles before sleeping again. i was walking the beach tonight with my dad. someone had already pioneered the path i was walking. someone wearing nike shox, but going the other direction. i lined up my toes with the back of her heel and our pace was the exact same. i found the same footprints headed the other direction, though. she got tired and started walking back. the stride was shorter. the shoe size smaller than mine. i would have liked to meet her.

all of the girls here are young. young and mostly beautiful. it is natural for someone like me to hide behind sunglasses, look up from a novel and peoplewatch. all the girls, sixteen maybe, seventeen. i don't even know what i'm talking about. a dog barking at a turtle. i wouldn't know what to do if i caught it.

i wish i was nick drake, dammit. he seems like a fucking cool guy. a damned genius. genious. oh fuck. {genius... and you couldn't have figured that out if you tried}

oh, and also. in case you were wondering:

You Are 36% Evil

A bit of evil lurks in your heart, but you hide it well. In some ways, you are the most dangerous kind of evil.

How Evil Are You?

muahahahaha, i think, is the right phrase.