Blog_#1_pv111925

Day 1 - 1 album 

Hello, remaining on a thin piece of paper assembled by some random Chinese restaurant worker isn’t how I would describe my destiny. Did I drain myself of academic fashion by wearing a weatherproof flannel to pretty much every composition class, yes. I still fantasize about the perfect aroma, fit, body shape, location, destination, keyboard, and reverb. Telling myself again and again, being healthy stumps any search for these categories. I mean, for even the unholy matrimony of me and that flannel, I couldn’t bother fixing the hole that was on the sleeve. Until, resembling the jacket taken out from the closet, with some thread seemed a better fit than wearing a rain jacket, which makes things merely tepid by comparison. 

Having done a bunch of bouncing around in Chicago, yes, I needed something that was going to work for most days. I have perfected the art of making people disapprove of how depressingly I travel in my flannel. But I never broadcast any modeling on my end. In fact, most of the movement I experienced in Chicago was the local school studying. Making a composition was tough once I realized things weren’t perfect in my mind. Mapping street lights with only the colors green and red, I mean, like come on, people, there’s got to be other ways to get cars on Dearborn St. to slow down. Likely all that I could ever do to bring up new ideas was to just put my head down and play. But there were times when editing with a ruler and eraser was much simpler. Paper copies of my music weren’t always appreciated, but I’d go to the library and write just to pass my songwriting class.

Tequila wasn’t my drink of choice after graduation; I don’t know why I needed to think that. But, yes, I am officially done with any of my flannel business. I mean to be fair, telling the whole story of how college was, indemnifies all the coconspirators. I had my eyes set on one big album. These things weren’t going to align well with the whole, who-who’s story is it to tell. I mean, I am just stuck in a corner with a carving into a desk of a strawberry, not knowing when I am going to leave the library. However, I’m not at the Two Eye Cafe in London, Great Britain. That’s for sure. Yeah, and of course, I wish there could be some god awful Stephenson-like connector for me to pull up so this endless train ride I am going through could be like une finite. 

I’m just saying I have things unimaginable that I haven't remotely considered to be in my possession yet. Kind of like abbreviations, for example, not really sure why. I portrayed the answer to countless questions about posture. I'd have a slouchy shoulder in my teens, and none of that pull-up bar type back. Body horror is so much of my recent settle down bucko moments, I'm like, whoa, please don't hurt me, I'm sorry for being unconscious sometimes. I should respect skill when I see it, and there are some really good directors out there that I've scored for. Recent times require a completely different stretch to what humans call the ‘judas cradle’ if we are speaking about posture. Otherwise, don’t lick the keys if you’re going to play, gosh darn it.