snippet jumble
among the rarely used VCRs and forgotten odds and ends, there is a wire birdcage, somewhat cobwebbed. with an unheard click, its door falls open.
I wrote down words like ‘thougthful’ and ‘passionate’ and from those stemmed words like ‘politically involved’ and ‘ecologically minded’ and even ‘space hippies’ though it needn’t be that extreme or cliché, of course.
the world is full of them. happy stewardesses. sleeping computer science students who steal your window seat just because you’re late boarding. men carrying children along the moving walkways. a black woman with an iced coffee.
and somebody’s nephew matt, picking you up in a shiny silver Chrysler.
i keep thinking about this ifness. whenness. something.
i hope i'll be ready to tear away—to leave my manufactured comforts and dreams.
record the soundtrack to your wildest dreams. then paint it green.
With Lemon behind the mic and Spice on his custom-built bright blue drum kit, DeMonja is normally given free reign to flavor the background however he sees fit, whether it be with wild and high-pitched vocal rhythms, the penny whistle, the nose flute, or his own priceless Stradivarius.
(from an article featuring Stridency Deletion, a local band)
Do you feel that? The cold, filthy fingers of real life are pushing deeper into the thinning bubble of my vacation.
Chris says:
when you're made of genius, you end up burning your own holes to fit into
plaid says:
oh really?
plaid says:
hm
Chris says:
yep
plaid says:
can i quote you on that?
Chris says:
i talk from experience, obviousleh
Chris says:
sure
plaid says:
ha
plaid says:
what if we're just fooling ourselves with all this ambition, chris?
Chris says:
then we go to bed
Chris says:
and have a sleep
Chris says:
and wake up
Chris says:
and... fool them back
Chris says:
yeah
plaid says:
them who?
plaid says:
oh, us.
