how someone can pick up an acoustic guitar for the first time and make it work and I can’t, anonymous blogging, butts & guts, the everlasting search for a cozy pub with a sick jukebox where everybody knows my name, books written somewhere between stream of consciousness, poetry and sense, mix tapes, new jobs that continue to define me as a person, the desire to live, not visit, in so many other places than NYC hindered by my mysterious inability to make the wheels turn away, anatomy, crushes, how running never gets easier but is in fact so painful and unnatural but I continue to do it anyway because it makes me think and helps me sleep at night even if I eat french fries, figuring out people, including myself, piles of journals, staring at art for months before I can make another swoosh, instant messaging, love vs. lust, schiele, drums & piano, storing memories on shelves I can no longer reach, dancing hard at a jam show and losing my mind, broca’s aphasia, my dream house, religion vs. imagination, genius vs. bullshit, missing- so much missing.
great friends that get my silly
jams with good imagination + lots of twists & turns, lyrics that can support themselves without the soundtrack, hard, solid beats that force you to move.
Blue Crush.
It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia, Scrubs, Iconoclasts
mucho gusto
Charlie Day