The Enemy of the Good (eideteker) wrote,
The Enemy of the Good
eideteker

  • Mood:
  • Music:

I found words again...

...From the look of what I wrote this morning. It's a pity, really; they'd never left me. I just didn't hear them, the way you sometimes never see the person who means the most to you, because I was afraid to admit two things to myself:

1. You need sleep.
2. You are a whore for attention.

It's hard to type when your hands are periodically falling against the keyboard, limp, as your head begins it's pendulumic cycle of nodding and waking.

Nodding and waking.

Nodding, and waking...

Nodding... and...

Where was I?

Oh, yes; fear. Wow, so like, because of two pieces of negative feedback, I'm suddenly afraid to write a very long and boring entry about a very small amount of music which I like very much? Shirley, you jest! Fear and sleep kept my words; they took them like gentle robbers.
somedayhe'sgonnawakeupinaburninghouseandwonderwhattosaveandwhotoblame

And like robbers, or like a scalding fire, anything survived is a lesson. The more you take away, the more I gain.
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