Because happiness never feels the way you think....

Does it?

I'm not sure... well I am sure... I'm sure what's missing... I'm not aiming for cryptography here, well, I am by nature ambiguous (never ambivalent, though), but really, I got ho's in different area codes, that read this shit.  I insinuate; they infer.  Humans are born with the ability to communicate on such a sophisticated level, these languages, systems of infinite combinations of patterns of strings of constructs of sounds made by closing the back of the throat, rounding the lips, flapping the tongue, and exhaling.  Sometimes through the nose.  And sometimes the mouth.

We also, naturally and by nature, kinda think everything's about us.

And sometimes it's got nothin' to do with ya, Sally Mae!  In fact, this is all fake, okay?  I downloaded those music from youtube, and I'm really a man.

But for story's SAKE.

I don't think there's any possible way Brandon (which is actually his real name, which is kinda dumb, but kinda not, for reasons that I will shortly address) has seen this blog, because he doesn't read, and because he doesn't care.  And he's the only one I've said anything bad about and it hasn't even been bad.

But if I can't keep it real here, what's the point?

I wish I was born here in Nashville.  Or somewhere nearby.  I wish I knew the same people my whole life.  I still could've pursued music, it's the perfect place for it... Granted what I do now is a little different, but songwriting, singing, and playing the piano, is always music.  It couldve gone any direction, stylistically... or would it not have?  I mean would I have come out the same person somehow, regardless?

Ughhhh if a tree falls in the fucking forest.

I'm just so sick of starting over.  I'm so sick of reinvention.  I am the phoenix.  And I am one thousand years old. 

Doesn't it feel good...

...To just get hammered once in a blue one?

When I first started playing out, at these crunchy no-alcohol havin' open mics, I would bring a handle of vodka in the trunk of my car, stick it in a shopping bag, and try to discretely temper my tea with it amongst the audience and waiting performers... that was redundant... amongst the audience OF waiting performers, is more accurate... and, that's a paradox... amongst the crowd, of seat-filled, waiting performers, without being noticed... I'd go through an entire bottle pretty much every 3 go-abouts.  But that only lasted a bit.

Now I'm a teetotaling ascetic and when it's time to work, record, or perform, I won't touch the stuff for months beforehand.

And man it felt good to just get sloshed and start a dance party in the bar tonight.  One of my favorite things to do.