(no subject)
tonight i'm extra tired of things. i get my hair cut tuesday and that is the same day no more heroes comes out. i think i will enjoy myself on that day. i hope to go clothes shopping at a selection of thrift stores. maybe i will find some nice jeans (i've been wanting to find another pair of jeans because i keep wearing the only pair i have. i got them thanksgiving break and oh man why did i not wear jeans like that sooner, you know?) and maybe some nice sweaters too. and i just get wrapped up because jesus i feel like i have too much on my plate, and knowing myself, i'm not a guy to have much on the plate besides the basics i suppose and maybe one nice constant thing sometimes but. it's either difficult to read or simply not what i was expecting. not in the least bit.
i need to get lost, like that josh/nick myers fellow. i saw him walking down a street, broadway, i think, next to the food city (for people in maryville who know what i'm talking about). and, while he was walking i noticed he was holding something. turned out to be cardboard. saw a book in his hand, maybe two books. getting lost and writing and maybe the cardboard or whatever board it was was what he needed. here, i'm just stoned off my ass on a lunesta, read: not stoned off my ass at all. here, though, is a good place. i'm hunched over on my loft bed i got so excited about and set it up the very day it arrived, i'd get so excited, my own room finally my own bed finally (bunkbeds, still sort of felt like the same bed) finally finally and here i am just as i could have been those years gone. and here with a a a a weak blue glow on the walls, i'm thinking the only idea i have, the only way i have, is that those vivid characters soak it up; if the rest of my (artistic) life could be equated to crouching over in my bed, at 3:24 in the morning.
i need to get lost, like that josh/nick myers fellow. i saw him walking down a street, broadway, i think, next to the food city (for people in maryville who know what i'm talking about). and, while he was walking i noticed he was holding something. turned out to be cardboard. saw a book in his hand, maybe two books. getting lost and writing and maybe the cardboard or whatever board it was was what he needed. here, i'm just stoned off my ass on a lunesta, read: not stoned off my ass at all. here, though, is a good place. i'm hunched over on my loft bed i got so excited about and set it up the very day it arrived, i'd get so excited, my own room finally my own bed finally (bunkbeds, still sort of felt like the same bed) finally finally and here i am just as i could have been those years gone. and here with a a a a weak blue glow on the walls, i'm thinking the only idea i have, the only way i have, is that those vivid characters soak it up; if the rest of my (artistic) life could be equated to crouching over in my bed, at 3:24 in the morning.