943-1003
In a fit of passion, someone wrote 'sing' on my left knuckles. As a reminder perhaps of the awful attempt at vocals I tried in the studio the night prior. Some ghost came through my dreams and wrote it out. Good advice and I will heed it. (Maintenance! Cleaning out your dryer vent.) Loudest group of people ever. They realize they are waking people up and laugh. It's their job and they can't help it. This feeling might be different if there was only one shaking and rattling the dryer and vacuuming out the back. He might mutter to himself and feel like an asshole. Three of them it's different. Revel in the disruption of all of these uptight assholes with collections of empty bottles, bongs, fake tans, std's, and protein shakes. Yo what do you fools want? (Apparently our dryer was the cleanest out of all of them so far.)
Flat notes. Possessive personalities.
Jazz fretless strings on a squier.
Make it happen; make it work.
Bass player joke. Whatever.
(dissent in the band)
I leave. Guitarist stays more for girlfriend than anything else.
Take her with you. out of this dustbowl.
Unprofessional. Although the studio was a colorful cave
Held out back up vocals so long.
I hear something more aggressive.
I want to hear something more aggressive.
haunted by your ghost!
we cannot help but recreate
the messes that we've made
out paths our not predetermined
we are masters of our fate
escape, escape that haunted place
Heads or tails (for my future)
Play catch with a frisbee across the colorado river.
(when it becomes a small distant sliver, far, far below).
Young lovers become licentious liars.
Pretty patterns of promiscuous proprieties.
Existential ecstasy, erecting evidence from the earth.
Treat yourself to a word on plays.
You deserve nice something.
Special something.
You exercise my patience, dear woman. Your whispering voice swells through me like a sleeping pill and I am forced to doodle labyrinths on my notebook and sink into them.
My hand goes without my conscious thought.
The day I got my head stuck inside my notebook.
And this is what I'm supposed to be studying the hardest!
Just breath and relax.
You have superhuman days ahead of you my friend.
(yesterday was surely one of them... 9-5 day plus a 4 hour recording/practice session)
You will have days that you test your physical strength and endurance.
That MC ever hits you back. To hike shit.
You will test your capacity for sleeplessness.
Test patience and reading endurance.
Until your eyes become crossed.
Cross my eyes and hope to die.
You will get stuck like that. In that pose.
Full days of guitar scales. Vocal lessons (self-taught for now)
One more English paper. A midterm of some kind.
A couple more Anthropology exams.
A couple more Sociology exams.
One Soc paper and deviance project.
(Need to figure that shit out, boss).
Days full of planning and preparation and execution.
Days full of friendly women and fun dates.
(pf chang's gift certificate from october...)
Days of art. Nights of rest.
Keep it tight. Keep it clean.
Days in Los Angeles. Trying to get a feel.
Self-sacrifice to make the fall tour happen.
An album.
The crazy bass player.
I will sing back up damn it all.
Teach me how to practice.
And teach me how to make that a habit (as I've made THIS a habit, finally).
Such as regular sleep and exercise.
No one believes me to be such a "scheduled" guy.
I don't like my days to be the same.
But if I can do something such as work on my voice for an allotted time every day... This will benefit my soul more than hurt it.
There is something discomforting in repetition. But.
