12.3.08

writ.

So I'm writing. This is a good thing and a bad thing. I'm insufferable when the ideas are bouncing through my head, scraps of songs that don't really relate to each other. It distracts me and it makes me lethargic in life, slow to move, busy editing the random verse in my head. I'm short and I seem angry, but I'm just diverted and divided.

I write these really elaborate back stories that never collect into a set tempo or plot, but have a lot to do with characters and then I write pretty much random thought filtered through an imaginary persons' head. They never come to be a song cycle or a musical, just a bunch of scattered songs that I'm almost positive come from someone more sensitive and intelligent than myself.

Maybe that's the explanation for how bastardly I can be. It's hard to be smarter and kindr than you actually are.

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