There's nothing here tonight unless I ramble and ponder empty space.
And maybe I will. I've been having all kinds of thoughts, but none organized into rant or reading material.
Earlier there was a post, an open letter about something or other. Maybe the new song lyrics-no, maybe not. I'll save that for sound.
Maybe tell what precipitated the song. No, not that either.
Maybe describe my lawn and the big plans I have for this little yard of mine: I'm gonna make it shine. That's really enough said there.
Or I could tell some painful memory in an offhand way to see if it gets all grabby with your heart.
I could describe the love of W.C. Fields I seem to have inherited. I could tell about the crush I have on a young Kate Hepburn. I could trouble you with my love of the sound of Katie and so many other words that has nothing to do with conotation-hell, I've dated girls just for liking their names. I got a bit excited there but fuck it, my hearts not in it.
I could tell in desolate detail all of the song ideas I have-incidentally I always instinctively capitalize "Idea" and have to remind myself to capitalize "I" But no.
I'm boring myself and I think sleep will make more sense after all of that.