(no subject)
Date: 02.13.05
Climate: It needs more cowbell.
xbox: empty
Watching: Food Network.
Listening to: placebo covers of the smiths
Eating / Drinking: nothing. If I had denero, I wouldn't be watching the food channel.
I fell into the panic trap of television today. And as not to be counter productive, the B sides of the new album will consist of a few of what I'd like to call my 'pet tracks' those too special too include. Tracks are as follows; Ionic Breeze be true, Turns out Provolone does Burn (Take that Naked Chef.) and lastly Ode to Gieco, Because those commercials make the 3 minute intervals between Room Raiders and Cribs worth it.
I had one of those pauses this morning. The slowing down, blank, yet troubled expression affixed. Short intake of breath- Standard? They have them in movies all the time. Perhaps not the action or suspense ones. (I could hardly imagine Sean Connery having a reflective thought, as himself or other. Doesn't matter. The persona is the same if he's James Bond or simply ordering a prostitute. Note To self; Chilled exteriors are fashionable. Develop one.) I've labeled it Talking Head Syndrome. You know, "And I look at my life...and think- How did I get here?" Its times in moments like that, where you loose track of who you are, or where you came from, that a pause is in order. I therefore decided not to go into studio. There was a breath and a pause, Dramatic as that may sound. Stress is fine as long as you don't realize you're doing it. I have this...inane fear of disappointing myself, confirming the fact that I am unremarkable. Practically possible in every way.
But I figure that's why I watch the most useless television, and find myself sobbing like a school girl at pointless films. There is no point if you don't find emotion. If I can find substance in a Chocolate Factory commercial, I suppose I can give life a chance. Or laugh mockingly at it while I dip everything in sight into melted cheese. Whichever comes first.
Note; Law # 27736362- Subsection D for my Frozen wonderland; Belgium Chocolate in Gin is otherwise outlawed, unless the words "Dude...I bet you.." precedes said offering of BelgumChoGin. (Blame 30-Minute Cousine for the notion.)
Climate: It needs more cowbell.
xbox: empty
Watching: Food Network.
Listening to: placebo covers of the smiths
Eating / Drinking: nothing. If I had denero, I wouldn't be watching the food channel.
I fell into the panic trap of television today. And as not to be counter productive, the B sides of the new album will consist of a few of what I'd like to call my 'pet tracks' those too special too include. Tracks are as follows; Ionic Breeze be true, Turns out Provolone does Burn (Take that Naked Chef.) and lastly Ode to Gieco, Because those commercials make the 3 minute intervals between Room Raiders and Cribs worth it.
I had one of those pauses this morning. The slowing down, blank, yet troubled expression affixed. Short intake of breath- Standard? They have them in movies all the time. Perhaps not the action or suspense ones. (I could hardly imagine Sean Connery having a reflective thought, as himself or other. Doesn't matter. The persona is the same if he's James Bond or simply ordering a prostitute. Note To self; Chilled exteriors are fashionable. Develop one.) I've labeled it Talking Head Syndrome. You know, "And I look at my life...and think- How did I get here?" Its times in moments like that, where you loose track of who you are, or where you came from, that a pause is in order. I therefore decided not to go into studio. There was a breath and a pause, Dramatic as that may sound. Stress is fine as long as you don't realize you're doing it. I have this...inane fear of disappointing myself, confirming the fact that I am unremarkable. Practically possible in every way.
But I figure that's why I watch the most useless television, and find myself sobbing like a school girl at pointless films. There is no point if you don't find emotion. If I can find substance in a Chocolate Factory commercial, I suppose I can give life a chance. Or laugh mockingly at it while I dip everything in sight into melted cheese. Whichever comes first.
Note; Law # 27736362- Subsection D for my Frozen wonderland; Belgium Chocolate in Gin is otherwise outlawed, unless the words "Dude...I bet you.." precedes said offering of BelgumChoGin. (Blame 30-Minute Cousine for the notion.)