Maestro, play me that song that I learned awhile back before all this fell into my house and I had to take the time to clean it all up, please.

It's a funny thing that I am up.

Well, because I am. And that's all the point I got and all the point you get.

Fickle me this Maestro, how long till I'm home? "Not too long," Maestro says in the adjacent room. Because, I will be home in at least the next half day. If you count a day as 24 hours, then I have succeeded in dodging conflicting terms of time and astrological mindsets with anyone.

Anyone who certainly will read this and go--....

Speaking of--....--, that is how I felt after I (illegally) listened to Sufjan Stevens-"To Be Alone With You". Now, Christian music usually isn't my thing--without downplaying it by all means if you enjoy the genre-- but Sufjan plays with such musical sincerity that the words itself find an entirely different shape and sense for me. After driving my roommates and surrounding neighbors--fuckers--to the brink of intermediate insanity with my constant stooging on the guitar, I set the notes in mental stone and have persisted in the art of Sufjan studies. I like Sufjan and you should too.

There is no reason for this to be written. In all honesty, I should be dead, passed out. Anxiety is a mere thought and not really a threat at the moment. My eyelids grow heavy and a tingling sensation has grown in my right foot. Type, type, type-- there, I'm bored. Sign off dammit.

I think this would be me if I was a Brit. Yeah, pretty sure.

 

Austin has become quite the polar party.

A forever and a day ago, I wrote with my digitally encrypted sword and engraved words which will be forever sealed in this pish-posh web of pornography and anti-bush slogans. Yes, I have begun to write--again. Of course, you may believe that a forever and a day ago was not too far in the past, since the last post written was just a few weeks ago.

A lot has happened since then.

I've forgotten how to read books, and that has had a major impact on the way I write, read, and--sometimes--speak this thing we know as English. I vow to buy a book--tommorow!?--who knows, I've lost all track of time.

Looking through this mess of a blog (in a certain amount of disgust), I have cringed, scrunched and shifted all constituents and orifices on my face into any angle, degree or direction possibly imaginable. Some of this--well, it just doesn't make sense. But see, my mindset was according to yours--an outside reader that isn't me. I apoligize. I repent. Let's have makeup love.

And if you've heard, you might have heard correct. But on the other hand you might have not heard all that is true, good, and correct. Correct is a term you should pay attention to, because you probably aren't. Confused? Good, you should intend to keep it that way.

My blogs are written late. My mind is thinking late. And you should be in bed.

Good night, hope to see you again.

p.s. Keystone light comes from a monster who just threw up in its mouth but decided to keep it in his disgusting lower jaw and then died which allowed the vomit to vent through the various pores in his head and drain into the blue aluminum cans that we all hold in our hands because we'd rather fit in than appease our tongues.