lalalalala

i’m crying all the time
salty stinging tears
and mourning for the past carbon-dated years
but knowing now for certain that you were always right
because if a breeze could blow you out of my life...
it’s only smoke and ashes baby

during one of my andrea-workshops, we did an excercise of writing to music. it is interesting to see the world when one of your senses is being completely persuaded by an artificial medium. the people look sadder or happier, more arrogant or perhaps more misplaced. for the first time in ages i actually thought id miss the train - if only to write.

i was reminded of when earl rejected enz's rap as poetry. or the class at uni deticated to lyrics as poetry - ian and his bob dylan. i thought about all the different music i listen to and what purpose it serves. when i feel like crying the cranberries is always nice. currently i go to sleep to augie march. on sunday, i listened to the whole of grace - tired and still, happy and content with where i am. the past days have been filled with a ludicrous mix of stuff - some too shameful to mention - the killers in chris' car, j-zee with enz, sufjan at the office.

music is fun. a hip kind of poetry. there is an atmosphere it creates that a lot of things cant. i am still torn about what to take away or what to listen to first this morning. iron and wine has been banned - though don continues to sing about papa :)