Stranded on the outside of a club in London, 2:33 am

So what can I say?

I'm completely emotionally drained. But I'm okay now. I was in a box but now I'm out. I wish I was a starving musician. Then I would feel as though my life had purpose. Instead of a four year plan, I would have a dirty setlist in my backpocket. I would save for guitar strings instead of buying bags of chips and cans full of vitamins and other shit that fucks with your internal functions. I would write lyrics on napkins instead of jotting down notes for something that is completely irrelevant to me. I would find purpose in living day to day, instead of trying to look forward to the future. I would dance anywhere, anytime, anyhow to the music that would feed me, instead of nap from a stomach full of grilled cheese and processed plastic pills. My guitar would be me course schedule. My bandmates would be my roommates. The crowd would be my weekend party. All of them bouncing, turning, dancing, jumping, moshing and letting whatever senses or stress or angst or ecstasy pour out of their limbs and their sweat and their pores. Then I would sleep on the side of the road or on your couch. And I would breathe for the beginning of the show. I would laugh and smile and be completely different as me and my bandmates let out our lives onto the vibrating strings. Our lives would be transferred into wavelengths and shot like a stream of bullets out the end of a speaker. Our lives would pour into that girl, that drunk, those hips, those punks, those conformists, and those left out. And at once we would all be one living, breathing, shouting dance machine. And all of our bodies would touch so we would become one mass of emotion. The lights would blind me--but at least I would be able to hear you cheer.