Music for mice. Acid for giants. Urban fairy tales for feather brains.

Friday, June 3, 2011

An introduction. Written in April. When I first went to sleep.

   I'm going to try writing a little bit everyday. I'm not exactly sure why. It's not like those around me need to bare witness to any more of my self scrutiny. Most everyone has heard my drunken rants, my afternoon musings, or one of my songs. You've probably read a late night text. Punctuation. Parentheses. Hyphen. Seventeen thoughts in one. Lord knows I probably don't need to do any more introspection. Between ____, ____ , and the tons of support I get from everyone around me, one should think that my inner child sits on a cloud eating ice cream with Cliff Huxtable. I should levitate. I should be able to bend objects with my mind. I should have given up normal speech long ago in exchange for some sort of Cunfucian-riddle-speak. I'm still an ape. Heaven knows what I would be like if I were actually repressed.
   Factually, I should be dead and I'm grateful that I'm not.
   I've heard that you should be careful about what ya say or post on the interweb.
   I guess I won't share anything more personal than that.
   I want to tell the truth. But Not yet.
   For now, April gives us damp and gloomy mornings, beautiful sunny afternoons, brisk evenings, and pitch black nights.
   They do very noisy construction on the freeway in the wee hours of the morning.
   People die in Lybia and Iraq.
   I drink reheated coffee at 12:43.
   Instincts ignored. Partly.
   Fed the beast, but only a bit.
   Goodnight Hunter, Mike, and Annabelle.

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