Thursday, January 8, 2009

Quotes and Notes

Aw, sucks. i just bought you a forums account
-Jeff, on my favorite memory of 2009

Notes on "Notes I Wrote"

I have two journals that are physical, flesh and blood, pulp, glue and binding, diaries. That is not including the incredible number of note books, memo books, thought pads, and other smaller bound paper objects. They are what I write in during the dark and frightful hours of the night when it is simply my thoughts and I, unable to face a computer screen and permanently jot down my thoughts on something public. Hopefully most of that stuff will never see the light of day, but it's also where I wrote the sweet heart pangs of young love, and the fear it would be lost to me. Occasionally some of the scrawling are reasonable enough to commit to electronic memory, which is what the previous ones have been at some point or another. Over the next week or so, starting Sunday, I'm going to find and post at least one small entry a day. They're often a little incoherent or have spelling mistakes, as they were written in the throngs of emotion and usually darkness. The majority I still will be unable to expose for fear of retaliation or revealing myself to be a romantic twat with desires contrary to lust or logic. As everything recent and relevant is about Dave, that's where most of it will come from, but also some family life.

Tuesday, January 6, 2009

Dreams

A lost friend once told me that sleeping was a waste of time, a drain on your life, because nothing is accomplished during your respite. Occasionally, I would concede, though secretly clinging fast to my ideal of naps and sleeping in. Sleeping was the fastest way to pass boring hours, and the dreams that resulted were more beautiful than any reality I could have created in the same timespan. It is not to say I would waste my youth unconsciously whisked to a magical and frightening dreamland, but that my dreams have as much worth as my memories. Philosophically, the past is nothing but a personal interpretation, a collection of memories. There is, of course, "concrete" evidence the majority these events definitely happened, but for others, the only proof of existence is intangible recollections. If I am still loved in my dreams, and it is as beautiful and moving as past reality's, and brings me to tears when it is dashed by the morning's duties, then those "memories" hold a fonder place than the dull moments spent wandering my house in search of a spectacle.

Monday, January 5, 2009

Guitar

I started playing my guitar again. So far it's only been songs that I've shared with people, but they've generally turned out pretty easy which is nice. Except for Soco Amaretto Lime, which is in drop D and unfortunate when I want to switch from a warm up to practice. Phish is great, just a nice sound with new chords. I looked into Bob Dylan, but nothing sounds right. Waist Deep in the Big Muddy is simple and easy. It was the strangest thing, but I swore I could smell Dave when I started playing. It was nostalgic.