We’re Wolves

Stolen from Every Time I Die. I know. But you don’t live until your ready to die.

It’s 2:15 am, that’s…quite the time. I have class at 12. Why the hell would I not be up?

My music selection has changed from Acoustic to Hardcore, like always. I can’t think, I can’t go to bed. Bitchin’.

I think it is bizarrely weird that sometimes as I’m walking back from a class, I stare down at my feet, asking myself “seriously?”, as if they would finally talk to me after 18 almost 19 years of silence. I want them to open up their mouths and give me knowledge. Why am I walking back from a college class on a college campus? I don’t even want too, but I do.

I’d prefer a poor life as an artist. But I don’t think I’m good enough for it. That’s a problem, that means I’m even more poor. Poorererer.

(If only you, you only knew, would you save me?)

My writing ability has been severely lacking lately. I think I wrote one thing….decent thing…over break. And that was after snow storms and cigars. It doesn’t count. It was probably terrible anyway. I don’t know why, but I’m having serious issues getting thoughts out in a semi-coherent, philosophical way. It’s 2:20am, I’m listening to the Decemberists, that should explain how badly it is.

Something is blocking my creativity. Creative Karma, that’s probably a real thing (This is a sad song. Eli, The Barrow Boy)…I think I have it bad. I probably said something without realizing. Damn. Go figure. But if only I could pinpoint what it was. Stupid

I’m listening the The Almost. Acoustic. Say This Sooner. People are saying that his voice is very shaky and he’s not very good in the song. But I don’t know. His voice has a quality to it….so it works. It sounds very oldie….It works.

226. I haven’t done a damn thing

I think I’m done.