Saturday, June 6, 2015



(after a while their lyrics began to sound like a criticism.)

"There ain't nothing for me to fear.
Open the window and smell the peach blossom.
The tiger lilly. The marigold."

like irony.

"I'm not knocked out but I'm on the ropes.
No retreat.
I may never get everything I bet.

Gonna feel so good when it's understood.

I know how."

Do any of us? Really?

"Another morning in the evening.
And I don't even know her name or if she lives here.
I had enough that I want more.

I always picked the hand that beat me.

Never trusted anyone. Don't see why I should now."

It's cutting and biting.
It's a type of blues.

"Six bucks in my pocket, no shoes on my feet. The first step is out the door then onto the street."

Alright. Here's the problem.

If you quit this blog.
You can't quit this blog.
This blog you cling to.
And you need 10,000 hours because of Gladwell's book.
But it's no longer about counting. Stop counting.
You can't walk out that door.
You're here.

"You know what I'm in a good mood today.

I guess you could say I have issues.

I'm changing up what this story is about."

"We gotta stick together. That's right.

I see everything. It's crystal clear. It's here."

The drums is a whole 'nuther story, but I think he would have loved this song because of the drums.
I can hear him in this album, the drummer I said I loved.

Today I am grateful to acknowledge shame.

"She is a true original.

She can find her own way home.

You just have to let her."

Everyone, every last one of us needs help in this world.
Not one single one of us just talked to a volleyball.
There have been times when I didn't help people like I should.
I just got mad at them.

And sometimes I'm not fine. Sometimes anyone can be not fine and it's okay surely to feel what you feel, and then acknowledge it. Because everyone everywhere at one time or another for whatever reason be it worthy or not. It doesn't matter. Everyone does get the blues.

"I've had enough of being complacent.

I no longer keep my mouth shut.
And if you're not ready you better get out now."

We all have bombs in us but being mean makes us feel like shit.
I know. I have been mean before. Sometimes words can paint the most awful of pictures.
So I stop painting those.

Or try to. (sometimes a four letter word is fitting the moment but in a good way, among really, really close friends who know your code.)

"You're my friend."

Great album.

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