that music should be fiercely clung to
I go out and sit on my stoop, in dark cold weather, when none of the neighbors have their lights on, I have those bad feelings when you are on your own, an amiable figure shrugging that's life.
what to do? I consider mourning, or knocking on other doors, but quiet on my bed is that lucky instrument and I sing through the ideas of others, what melodies! and feel better, reassured, lit.
Cynics are these longing, longing people. They won't admit they want a new moon. In many ways my goals are dull, biological; woo the cynics, or the skeptics uncomfortable on the fence. entertain all. do you need to be broke? why is it that word? and how to get unpunished? these things take time, and it stupidly reminds me of star wars, when you have to wander into the forest defenseless in order to get anywhere.
what to do? I consider mourning, or knocking on other doors, but quiet on my bed is that lucky instrument and I sing through the ideas of others, what melodies! and feel better, reassured, lit.
Cynics are these longing, longing people. They won't admit they want a new moon. In many ways my goals are dull, biological; woo the cynics, or the skeptics uncomfortable on the fence. entertain all. do you need to be broke? why is it that word? and how to get unpunished? these things take time, and it stupidly reminds me of star wars, when you have to wander into the forest defenseless in order to get anywhere.