(no subject)
I thought to myself, no don't post while you're high. that would be a bad thing.
And then I looked down at the keyboard and here we are. 11:45 on a beautiful Thursday evening and I'm just sitting around waiting to come down while listening to the mysterious production of eggs and eating 2 day old deliciously cold panera. Satisfying and still mystifyingly enough delicious in a manner one can only find in twice frozen panera.
It seems however that I've finished that album. What next? I gently asked myself in a soothing tone. One of sexual implications. Perhaps some Lips of the flaming variety? Yes. Sounds tasty. Sounds more than tasty, sounds sexually explicit. You can almost taste the acid dripping off the notes.
After this Andrew Bird song that is. Lull. Drifting, slowly, soflty, drifting.
Most likely I'll regret this tomorrow. If I could ever regret anything I wrote on livejournal.
Oh what days those were. Oh, who was I when this became an obsession for me? It's frightening how I can lose myself in something as cold and lifeless as this. And here I am. Typing. Writing. Laughing at myself.
But seriously, get off this freaking computer. Unless you're using it to pirate music. In which case, fight the good fight.
And here we are after awkardly emotional aims, a long slightly uneventful night, and a remembrance of an ugly past. A past where I tried to pass emotions out through these tiny little keys. Imagine that, emotions through wires. Imagine that. Me writing this. Why would I ever do that?
And then I looked down at the keyboard and here we are. 11:45 on a beautiful Thursday evening and I'm just sitting around waiting to come down while listening to the mysterious production of eggs and eating 2 day old deliciously cold panera. Satisfying and still mystifyingly enough delicious in a manner one can only find in twice frozen panera.
It seems however that I've finished that album. What next? I gently asked myself in a soothing tone. One of sexual implications. Perhaps some Lips of the flaming variety? Yes. Sounds tasty. Sounds more than tasty, sounds sexually explicit. You can almost taste the acid dripping off the notes.
After this Andrew Bird song that is. Lull. Drifting, slowly, soflty, drifting.
Most likely I'll regret this tomorrow. If I could ever regret anything I wrote on livejournal.
Oh what days those were. Oh, who was I when this became an obsession for me? It's frightening how I can lose myself in something as cold and lifeless as this. And here I am. Typing. Writing. Laughing at myself.
But seriously, get off this freaking computer. Unless you're using it to pirate music. In which case, fight the good fight.
And here we are after awkardly emotional aims, a long slightly uneventful night, and a remembrance of an ugly past. A past where I tried to pass emotions out through these tiny little keys. Imagine that, emotions through wires. Imagine that. Me writing this. Why would I ever do that?