Neuronography is like a cognitive tab- or link-dump, a map of my thoughtscape, an emptying of my head at a particular moment. What comes out may or may not be connected, may or may not make real sense.
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Am I a musician? Do I make a difference as a musical artist? If not, will I ever?
Answer to all three: "Maybe."
Am I as smart as people think I am? Do people think I'm smart?
Am I addicted to love? Sure.
Am I addicted to sex? No, that's silly.
But if I was, I would make no attempt to reform; this particular and specific addiction is pretty fuckin' (no pun intended?) awesome.
^ Small type equals false modesty.
Who am I? Eh... it doesn't matter right now.
There is a certain kind of heartbreaking beauty in extremely mundane external objective human sadnesses. Examples:
-The morbidly obese lady walking (crueler observers may instead choose "waddling") alone across the Barnes and Noble parking lot in a new haircut and fancy flowing top with a slight smile on her face.
-An old man combing his hair in a bathroom mirror in the middle of campus on the windiest day in recent memory, and then following me outside, back into the follicle-mussing wind.
-A woman rambling on and on and on and on to her (at least to me) unseen male listener about some absolutely crazy shit but absolutely not notcing how absolutely crazy it is or just how long she's been talking, despite her companion's seemingly mounting displeasure.
-Etc.
Missing Jenna hurts. Physically.
I should really start standing up more for what I believe, voicing my opinions more, and becoming more informed.
Being in love feels like returning to some more-natural state that I've never been in before, but it still feels like returning anyhow. I bet there's some kind of etymological evidence to back this up.
I should write a poem or two.
You wonder at everything. I love to share these thoughts with you. You appreciate the taken-for-granted, enough to question it - to ask aloud, "you know what's strange?". So, if that kind of wonderment isn't seeing life for its beauty, I don't think I'll ever know beauty.
ReplyDeleteI don't mean to go down a list and answer: Sam, you're brilliant, and you are a musician and your songs have exploded in people's hearts and mine and evoked tears so how can you wonder if nothing has been changed, and I hope you aren't addicted to love and that we're just addicted to each other, and that the sex thing might be okay. I don't mean to do what I just did, so I won't. I'll just say that I love you and I miss you enough to pretend that your blog entry is our conversation. <3
I am totally addicted to you. That's pretty much what I meant. I just wanted to hint at my overwhelming obsession with Robert Palmer.
ReplyDeleteAnd yeah, I think that the sex thing might be okay.
I miss you so much. I love you even more though!
^ You know you're gonna have to face it.
ReplyDelete...I like to think that I'm immune to the stuff
ReplyDeleteoh yeah.