"It spreads like fire" (...or....butter?)
Called into work sick. I'm so happy right now, even with my frog voice and sniffles and sore throat. I love a stolen "me" day now and again.
I had this dream that Scott and I were in this grassy parking lot (like at the fair or summer concerts that are way packed) in California. He pointed to something and said, look, wild-fire, and it was a blazing patch of grass, just a tiny little fire. We called for help because there were firemen a few rows over, but they were too busy fighting a bigger fire. So I stomped on it, and mostly put it out. Then (this is where it gets weird), flowers started popping up and I was stomping on them to kill them. I just kept jumping on these weird looking blue flowers and they just kept growing and spreading like a virus. It felt like they were threatening or attacking me in the dream. Then they turned into dead dandelions, and I was kicking the wispy seedy stuff around.
So most of us live journal keepers are self-depreciative. I'm no different. I was going to write something typically self-depreciative here about my short-comings, but you know what? Fuck that.
I was going to say that I expected a lot more out of myself by now, to at least have produced some sort of beautiful fruit from all of my experiences, memories, thoughts, and relationships. I don't know. At this point, I only like maybe two songs I've written. And that's from a whole catalog of them...stuff nobody's ever heard and nobody's ever going to hear.. But anyway, my point is.....my point is......
Ya'll haven't seen nothing yet...
I do talk about music and musicianship a lot, but don't get me wrong. I know there's more to life. I was always sort of mediocre when it came to visual art, and my writing tends to be shapeless (something that can be fixed...).... anyway, maybe it's time to hone other skills as well as continue to grow musically. I guess I'm just getting too big for my britches.
I had this dream that Scott and I were in this grassy parking lot (like at the fair or summer concerts that are way packed) in California. He pointed to something and said, look, wild-fire, and it was a blazing patch of grass, just a tiny little fire. We called for help because there were firemen a few rows over, but they were too busy fighting a bigger fire. So I stomped on it, and mostly put it out. Then (this is where it gets weird), flowers started popping up and I was stomping on them to kill them. I just kept jumping on these weird looking blue flowers and they just kept growing and spreading like a virus. It felt like they were threatening or attacking me in the dream. Then they turned into dead dandelions, and I was kicking the wispy seedy stuff around.
So most of us live journal keepers are self-depreciative. I'm no different. I was going to write something typically self-depreciative here about my short-comings, but you know what? Fuck that.
I was going to say that I expected a lot more out of myself by now, to at least have produced some sort of beautiful fruit from all of my experiences, memories, thoughts, and relationships. I don't know. At this point, I only like maybe two songs I've written. And that's from a whole catalog of them...stuff nobody's ever heard and nobody's ever going to hear.. But anyway, my point is.....my point is......
Ya'll haven't seen nothing yet...
I do talk about music and musicianship a lot, but don't get me wrong. I know there's more to life. I was always sort of mediocre when it came to visual art, and my writing tends to be shapeless (something that can be fixed...).... anyway, maybe it's time to hone other skills as well as continue to grow musically. I guess I'm just getting too big for my britches.