Drunken nostalgia. Ruining moments with sequences of new discovery. But it's all interrupted. no one ever gets to the point. disappointed people and broken bones in dark rooms. glow in the dark bra. but turn the lights on once removed. falling over for a backwoods rendezvous.talk about guns in closed off alleyways. all of the people passing try to ignore. air powered rifles. all of the diversions and distractions. we act differently in a huge negative group then with the decent familiar presence that we all talk so badly about. the damage is done and the timing was incorrect. I am assuming disaster on the balcony. something about being bothered by never calling out the shots. never calling you out when you need it most. hitching rides. edit photos. juxtapose those intrepid memories. have every moment arranged perfectly. "brand yourself." text and textual influences. holding back the laughter when a joke goes too far. hunting and gathering when portland falls into itself. sucked up by its own self importance. I never felt cooler than when walking down the block to class with an art bag. and all--- cut off briefly to jam the rhythm section multi-instrumentalist. "packed up and moved out to colorado" drums on guitar and bass on drums. "hit seattle with a head full of drum rhythms"
fall in love with all of the potential though I will only follow through with a minimal portion of it all. hand over the keys and I'll drive. but there is no definitive destination. we are alone on this. with this. feeling it. no one cares. that's the attitude. life is beautiful. everything is great.
