Springfield, for instance..
The story goes like this: The big crew was going to pack into a van and drive to boston for cheap, cheap cheap. Matt was going to drive. The trouble was, we couldn't exactly find a car, and we all had school, jobs, (lives) to.. umm.. try to strongarm into compliance.
("you will fucking let this trip work," we said to our lives.)
well, then we found out for sure that we didn't know of any available car that'd get us all there, and then, the guy that was driving found out that for sure, for sure, he couldn't drive.
Then, the sweet girl that she is, Sara Blaine offered to drive (spelling?). The woman can drive, whether or not the car she's in works.. Which is nice, but we still don't have a car.
BUT WITH A CAR!! we could do it.
The other hope lies in people so frik'n low and dumb that they don't go to school (at least yet) and don't drive cars (and don't pay for either). That's me and boy, to my knowledge. Trains run at about 110 dollars, though, which is pricey compared to 30 round trip for 150 in gas and tolls round trip for a van, split by 5 people. Man, the list of characters that Mood told me about though, it'd be worth it.
that's where it sits, though. Maybe another time, BUT MAYBE THIS TIME.
As for me? I watched the Shipping News tonight and it made me want to see a psychologist. Does anyone know a good one in the area? I wish I just had a psychologist friend. On the other hand, that might not work. Honesty goes better with anonymity.
Whatever though, as I get older my instincts get harder and harder to, well, recognize. Most times, they're easy enough. I'm happy, dance. Right. But sometimes, it's like, "well, what do I do with, ... , this?" I'd like to sort that out.
There was a book I read once, The Artist's Way, that recomended that people take time every morning to fill three pages with writing, just, write down your thoughts as they come. Whatever they are. Don't sort them out, don't explain them, just get'em down. After you write it down, you look it over, and you're like "these are my thoughts. This is how I feel." And then, you decide what you're going to do about it, and that's commonly art.
Sometimes I think the whole trick to life is letting the soul breathe like that.
Just so it doesn't slip my mind, I was thinking that art is the world you build around the real world, your thoughts.. Any time you explain part of the world to yourself, you build a new part of it.
Think of it this way, when you categorize world, you use language. You have to invent language to categorize the world. Thats the art, the language. It didn't exist before you had to go figuring shit out, but once you did, you built this thing that dances around the world, and describes the world, but wasn't part of the world when you were trying to describe it.
But then, that would mean the world was always pointing to your art, waiting to give rise to it.. So in that sense, your art was always a part, it was a space, you could tell where it was by the things that pointed to it, but it wasn't there yet, just pointed to.. you had to find it, and then it was there..
This live journal is turning out to be a paper I could write for a physics class..
ask the boy what I mean by that. Or read the Dancing Wu Li Masters, a book about modern physics. um.
goodnight. All my love, come and get it.
Scott
("you will fucking let this trip work," we said to our lives.)
well, then we found out for sure that we didn't know of any available car that'd get us all there, and then, the guy that was driving found out that for sure, for sure, he couldn't drive.
Then, the sweet girl that she is, Sara Blaine offered to drive (spelling?). The woman can drive, whether or not the car she's in works.. Which is nice, but we still don't have a car.
BUT WITH A CAR!! we could do it.
The other hope lies in people so frik'n low and dumb that they don't go to school (at least yet) and don't drive cars (and don't pay for either). That's me and boy, to my knowledge. Trains run at about 110 dollars, though, which is pricey compared to 30 round trip for 150 in gas and tolls round trip for a van, split by 5 people. Man, the list of characters that Mood told me about though, it'd be worth it.
that's where it sits, though. Maybe another time, BUT MAYBE THIS TIME.
As for me? I watched the Shipping News tonight and it made me want to see a psychologist. Does anyone know a good one in the area? I wish I just had a psychologist friend. On the other hand, that might not work. Honesty goes better with anonymity.
Whatever though, as I get older my instincts get harder and harder to, well, recognize. Most times, they're easy enough. I'm happy, dance. Right. But sometimes, it's like, "well, what do I do with, ... , this?" I'd like to sort that out.
There was a book I read once, The Artist's Way, that recomended that people take time every morning to fill three pages with writing, just, write down your thoughts as they come. Whatever they are. Don't sort them out, don't explain them, just get'em down. After you write it down, you look it over, and you're like "these are my thoughts. This is how I feel." And then, you decide what you're going to do about it, and that's commonly art.
Sometimes I think the whole trick to life is letting the soul breathe like that.
Just so it doesn't slip my mind, I was thinking that art is the world you build around the real world, your thoughts.. Any time you explain part of the world to yourself, you build a new part of it.
Think of it this way, when you categorize world, you use language. You have to invent language to categorize the world. Thats the art, the language. It didn't exist before you had to go figuring shit out, but once you did, you built this thing that dances around the world, and describes the world, but wasn't part of the world when you were trying to describe it.
But then, that would mean the world was always pointing to your art, waiting to give rise to it.. So in that sense, your art was always a part, it was a space, you could tell where it was by the things that pointed to it, but it wasn't there yet, just pointed to.. you had to find it, and then it was there..
This live journal is turning out to be a paper I could write for a physics class..
ask the boy what I mean by that. Or read the Dancing Wu Li Masters, a book about modern physics. um.
goodnight. All my love, come and get it.
Scott