went to the beach

saw my bro, called my mom, at fast food, looked at the people, listened to howard.

i kept my hand on ambers leg for most of the journey.

got home Prince had puked, i think Michael has fleas

watched the Bulls doc, got super inspired.

i know im not the MJ of anything but its interesting to watch someone be so dedicated to something for no good reason. because really who cares if you’re The Best

theres always some jackhole about to get born whose gonna see what you did and genetics and luck and training and study is gonna kick your ass at it and hes not even gonna have to face the people you had to mow down

so why bother?

how about just be yourself and dont worry bout no one else? is that so hard?

life is crazy ill tell you that. i never thought i would be here doing this right now topless on a computer that fits perfectly on my knee and i can open Photos and copy and paste and boom boom boom

but Jordan does make me wanna do bigger things than I am used to. i was transcribing this piece that was only supposed to be part of something but i made it its own thing. who knows if my boss will allow it to be its own thing but its just right as a standalone. then in a few days i can make another standalone and another.

mooshing doesnt always do what you want it to. sometimes a pipe is just a pipe. sometimes many stories is better than just one long one.

i just want to live in a world where nobody says no to me they just let me make things. new things. because — and this is a hard thing for me to explain properly — when i do something it’s not just it, it’s part of something

it’s building blocks. it’s connected. it’s books in the bible. it’s words in a sentence that turns into a paragraph that eventually equals a page.

my whole life ive just wanted to do. and for some reason i find myself around others who want me to stop or slow or fit into a box. i may look normal but im so not normal. there is no box for me. who else would go in it with me? not bukowski, i dont drink any more. not ee cummings, i dont poetry any more. not jd salinger, im west coast. so who? no one. not one blogger because im one of the last. not one journalist because im secretly a blogger.

no one, im alone. defenseless.

n pure