Funny, but it's still rock and roll to me
in the spirit of wanting and waiting, i'm writing about my life. i realized i never kept a journal, in creative writing we had to keep one, but i bullshitted my way through it, never took it seriously. i write in this thing but it's mostly to plug my writing that no one seems to read. but despite all of that, i notice that if i align all my poems/songs/stanzas they would form as a chronolgical opera of my life, as is true for all writers. the only thing that bothers me, is the constant theme i find in most of these segments of consciousness; desire. Moreover the desire of being someone or somewhere else, if not both. I'm not so much disgusted by who i am or where i am, i'm mostly just curious how i came to be, and if i could be different. like the song says 'Could I have been a parking lot attendant?/ Could I have been a millionare on Fifth Avenue?/ Could I have been lost late at night somewhere in Central Park?/ Could I have been your little sister?/ Could I have been anyone other than me?' (Yea, Dave Matthews, but I wouldn't have thought to write it that well. Anyway, I'm not sure what brought this out exactly, but I know that I like myself enough to move past that, the curiousity i hope will never die. but any uncertainty has no place. i'm digging some new stuff i have. out.