birds are boring.
I was recording a song on our coffee table-turned-recording-studio and outside Connie was doing the electric slide on top of piles and piles of Easter candy wrapped in pink plastic.
But tonight I sat on a roof and learned about white chairs, explained to a friend over coffee why typing cheapens, even as everyone's inbox is neglected. What does this accomplish; it is so non-specific, and I'd rather relearn how to converse in the corner of someone's attic bedroom before climbing out the window. Earlier there was a giant cotton-candy pink and blue heart hanging above my head. Eating it would have been terrible--even fiberglass looks sweet.
Sam told me about his dream-sadness. Things happen that wouldn't in his everyday life, his encounters with other people are better than usual. We were all friends and happy while we were singing through the window at our dancing blonde suitemate.
Oh, and President Hu was here today. The campus was secured, and my Spanish class had to change locations. Over a thousand members of the communist party were bused in from New York, and a van with speakers duct-taped to its roof rolled by blaring the national anthem. The Fallun Gong (how do I spell this?) group here meditated in protest underneath blown up photos of death-camp inmates, whose organs had been harvested while they were still alive. Red was everywhere.
I have nothing interactive to say. Should that stop me from using this format to say anything?
But tonight I sat on a roof and learned about white chairs, explained to a friend over coffee why typing cheapens, even as everyone's inbox is neglected. What does this accomplish; it is so non-specific, and I'd rather relearn how to converse in the corner of someone's attic bedroom before climbing out the window. Earlier there was a giant cotton-candy pink and blue heart hanging above my head. Eating it would have been terrible--even fiberglass looks sweet.
Sam told me about his dream-sadness. Things happen that wouldn't in his everyday life, his encounters with other people are better than usual. We were all friends and happy while we were singing through the window at our dancing blonde suitemate.
Oh, and President Hu was here today. The campus was secured, and my Spanish class had to change locations. Over a thousand members of the communist party were bused in from New York, and a van with speakers duct-taped to its roof rolled by blaring the national anthem. The Fallun Gong (how do I spell this?) group here meditated in protest underneath blown up photos of death-camp inmates, whose organs had been harvested while they were still alive. Red was everywhere.
I have nothing interactive to say. Should that stop me from using this format to say anything?