accidently mud river
Elaborate solo drum music is able to hold my attention for twenty minutes but not for four hours. After a while it stops sounding like music, or any semblance there of. Instead it is teeth chattering and feet stomping and insects rattling incessantly. It is like a dark, swirling tide rising and falling, tossing pebble's hard against the ground and never quite drowning you.
Particularly at four in the morning it has the tendency to metamorphous into something tedious, redundant and almost oppressive. Drummers shouldn't be nocturnal unless they are very far out in the woods. That said, I really do find it interesting. For a short while.
I think I can feel the acid in my stomach burning me from the inside out. I'm running on a severe sleep deficit, and have resorted to the solace and irresponsibility of comforting apathy. What the fuck, I just don't care any more. Even though I can hear the ocean in my ears and am longing desperately to scream, to cause some disruption and pretend I'm still bothering to care.
Ah, well.
Bittersweet things are beautiful. The neutralization of sorrow and joy is gorgeous. Conflicting emotions and indecision is miserable but also somehow picturesque.
Tea lights, their flames like molten amber, in brown paper bags,glowing diligently like rock queried from the sun; nighttime and bright yellow moonlight, and an abyss of dusky clouds;storms and forever and the blank face of nothingness.
They're gorgeous. And I love them all.
Particularly at four in the morning it has the tendency to metamorphous into something tedious, redundant and almost oppressive. Drummers shouldn't be nocturnal unless they are very far out in the woods. That said, I really do find it interesting. For a short while.
I think I can feel the acid in my stomach burning me from the inside out. I'm running on a severe sleep deficit, and have resorted to the solace and irresponsibility of comforting apathy. What the fuck, I just don't care any more. Even though I can hear the ocean in my ears and am longing desperately to scream, to cause some disruption and pretend I'm still bothering to care.
Ah, well.
Bittersweet things are beautiful. The neutralization of sorrow and joy is gorgeous. Conflicting emotions and indecision is miserable but also somehow picturesque.
Tea lights, their flames like molten amber, in brown paper bags,glowing diligently like rock queried from the sun; nighttime and bright yellow moonlight, and an abyss of dusky clouds;storms and forever and the blank face of nothingness.
They're gorgeous. And I love them all.