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.
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.
posted by Henry at 1:44 AM
1 Comments:
Maestro? Who the Hell is Maestro? You're so crazy, Henro; I love it =P
If you really want to check out good Christian music: Jars of Clay will be your savior (no pun intended). I went to the Island Party last spring and was really amazed. I don't listen to the stuff myself usually.
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