#usedtolivethere

I miss my piano. Hearing the weight of the notes in my left headphone in "Thank you Louise" during the chorus.  I always had the piano to confide in, the site specific church piano.  And that cat who stayed with me so long, I thought he would stay forever. Just hope this doesn't hurt forever. 

The day I can build my indoor habitat at a contemporary art museum is the day I will say, ok, thank you, I'm happy. 

The only time I ever meant smoking a cig after I quit, was because of Boris.    Make it so animals mean the most, but even then humans will creep back in.  I think the only human who I can say "You remember Joe?" to, I pushed far away. 

Writing telling letters, by saying them out loud, in my sleep.  I never remember them when I wake up.  I just remember the strange dreams, most of them wouldn't make sense to anyone else.  Even retelling them might put me in harms way.  But I know I need to start making music again, as I've been told that musicians can get away with alot (of truth).  Truth becomes a weapon to the world outside of yourself.  They either don't take it seriously or they viciously retaliate before you have the means to gather your senses (your only defense in a world not familiar with the light of dreaming.)

I miss LA, it's never really cloudy there.

It doesn't matter how far you run, or how close you try to stay; you'll always miss your childhood landscape. 

The wind. The wind. The wind is carrying us down Broadway. I remember listening to this for the first time at the top of a parking garage on Locust and mapping out the city based on someone who didn't give a shit about me. I'll make a show about it one day, but before that, he'll see me in drag as Ryan, singing this on a stage, but he probably won't even come. And if he does, he'll only judge me and no one will win.

Because of the Internet, most things are better kept to ourselves.