Writing a song seems to be getting easier. The prevalence of singing out the spelling of a word over and over is creating a lucrative market for songwriters. As a dabbler in the writing arts myself, I can assure you that it is much easier to write one word than string a whole sentence together to form a concept. An added bonus is the nigh-impossibility of criticism. How do you critique one word? I think there's only one real critique and I'm going to use it right now in this fictional review of all those songs. "S-U-C-K-S."

But I kid, I kid. I love lyrics but the music is the silken hair that gets you to the top of Rapunzel's tower. Evidence of this is...evident in the common sound of people singing along with songs when they haven't a clue what the lyrics are. Fallout Boy is one of the strongest cases for this, especially since the vocalists can't even seem to agree amongst themselves. Not to pick on Fallout Boy, of course. I hold them in high regard for their bold introduction of the letter "lrhyeh" to our alphabet.

Poor alphabet. Elmo must be rolling in his grave.

I wrote the two posts below while I was very drunk. I vaguely remember writing it and laughing at the time. I think it's supposed to be funny? I'll have to ask Jake because he was right there when I wrote it. Wait, he was laughing, too. Maybe it is funny.

Wait, no. It's really not funny at all. It doesn't even make sense unless maybe I got drunk off of fortune cookies. That's the only logical explanation.

Free will. There I stood,. naked and fearless, reveling in the moonlight. Every day we learn that nature has thwarted nurture. Painful, like roooting for the underdog. We all want to be so hard be what worked at bing. Turns out we ar what we were all along.

It is painful but it makes for a good genetic argu.

Where are we now? At the crux. We at this moment can shapethe future.

Arrogance or no, the connection establishes itself. Can we connect? I doubt it so. Not that doubting negates what we are, but we need honesty.

This is the safe feeling.


Blogger rolls out a new way of communicating and i roll over also and express myself.

Hurt. Let's get that out of the way right now. I feel pain like you feel pain and that's how we're connected. But what else?

I wish to revel in my freedom right now. It won't last for a very long time, but the feeling will carry me past the tough times.

fFreeedom rps across the tips of your fingertips and forces you to say what you meant. It seeks out the past, finds every moment when you were guarded and flings them out in the oopen. "I was your wonderwall" you say. We all celebrated that fault. We were all blinded.

Ah, much better. With the help of my loyal assistant, Mini-Moose, I have heaped this morass into piles more manageable. Mini-Moose? No, he's been here all the time, you just haven't noticed him.

I have my little virtual library in the corner now. Someday, it will contain every book I've ever read. At the moment it contatins a handful I own but have not yet read but that would be misleading. Horribly misleading.

This week is about finishing books I've begun to read and failed to finish. This is a relatively new habit. Started right around when I got friends and subsequently plans for weekend evenings. Odd coincidence.... No, I still finish most books I begin unless they're absolutely terrible. But sometimes I...forget.

At at time when I could benefit from guidance, I picked up a book I stopped reading some time ago, but not from forgetfulness. Well, I don't think it was forgetfulness. I flipped through the autobiography of the first American, scanning headings and trying to recollect where I'd stopped. Tucked between page 74 and 75 was a thin clear band of elastic. It was a hair tie. But I don't use hair ti-. Oh yeah.

Drnken blog go.

Two and a half botles of wine and here I find myself. Listening to music on ye ol Itunes. Nightmare before christmas, specifically. Danny Elfman put out some tracks that he recorded himself to guide the actors that would perform the songs. It's a terribler burden being an actor. So many parts. Only one you.

Bury me in the cold cold ground with this quote: Every drunk, thirty seconds ago, thought himself a Romantic.

G-Man hit me with this a few days ago. I meant to respond, then I didn't, and then someone else prodded me about my lack of blogging and so, here I am. Let no one say that I do not respond to the right kind of prodding.

"Each player of this game writes about "6 weird habits/things about themselves." People who get tagged then write their own blog, including their own "6"... and restate this rule clearly."

1. I don't sleep well. I do not say that I am insomniac; there is a massive difference between insomnia and not sleeping well. Many people will say they have insomnia but few will convince.

Insomnia is not sleeping. Everything else is not sleeping well. The distinction is as apparent as that between a starving person and one who has rickets because all they eat are Big Macs.

I wake up at least two times a night during which I will get up, meander about, and then head back to sleep after no more than fifteen minutes. This is likeliest to occur at 2 am. I think some part of my lizard brain registers that this is last call and is trying desperately to acquire a drink.

Besides that, I awake at 5 am every morning although I set my alarm for 5:40. This results in me trying to fall back asleep for half an hour only to succeed just before my alarm goes off. I hit the snooze button in spite.

2. I fail a lot of classes.

3. The mental image of myself is still pretty close to this:

4. Many times a week I almost wish that I had no body hair whatsoever...and then I stop myself when I recall how much I use my eyebrows.

5. My long-term memory is pretty good but my short-term memory is on par with that of an 8-year-old with ADD. I can remember the text on the page that gave me a papercut on my middle finger last week but don't expect me to do basic arithmetic in my head because I'll forget the first number I was adding by the time I get to the third.

6. Six can wait.