as if not one year has passed, i'm listening to the pixies.
might as well continue to ramble here.
i'm dissatisfied.
where's my pen and my spiral bound journal.
did that ever even help? i mean i'm still alive.
i guess that says something.
how could curiosity not strike?
i mean, fuck, i'd be scouring that shit.
just combing it, reading between the lines.
stop having expectations.
you cannot sit around and wish for intangible nonsense.
there is no grand ultra super fresh package. no such thing.
take what you can get and run.
i realized i was holding my breath, or not breathing fully,
when i got dizzy and felt like i was floating out of my chair.
i feel like i'm sort of swirling upwards and to the right.
very strange.
bing bong.
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