So here I find myself at the end of another month with nothing much to show for it. I wrote loads of bad poetry, some of which I'll probably post here. I am still sad for myself, and still waiting around to be saved. Apes of the State released a new album that had me wishing that heaven were real. It's late and I'm sick and in a few hours it'll be a new month and my nose will still be running. I wonder what I'll find here. Hopefully something I've never seen before.
The new Apes of the State album, if that's the sort of thing you're into.
And I did not expect it to. I have rewritten this section countless times. I've set a tone I don't care to continue. I wached Janis Ian perform on the first episode of Saturday Night Live and remembered why I loved her, why I ever love anything. I'm still sick tonight, but less so. Modern medicine works wonders. I ate another whole basket of blackberries because it's finally harvest time. They were bitter and left a sick aftertaste in my mouth. Just how I like them.
Janis Ian performing "At Seventeen" on SNLTonight I was in a car with my father listening to Joni Mitchell. It reminded me of when I would make him get in his car and find a clear sky where the universe would be waiting. Suburbia continues too far around me to escape. The clean skies I seek are few and far between, and if I ever found one I am sure it would do me no good. Joni Mitchell sings of childhood dreams and I sing along.
Hometowns are special, because they're impossible to live in and yet impossible to truly leave. Either you stick around and you haunt the place or you leave and the place haunts you. Growing up in Southern California is best exemplified by the tropical milkweed that grows in my front yard. It's not supposed to grow here, and when the monarchs feed on it the blooms trick them into thinking it's not time to leave yet, so they never migrate to where they're meant to go.