london calling (to the underworld)
saw those days that seem almost empty? Or rather, full of nothing. I avoid it. Read Whitman. Carpe diem. But no. Not so. I continue as usual, filling my evenings had not drawn my ideas on paper with ink smell, not having studied for the civics test that I take tomorrow, no spitting all the music I have (or expect to have) in and not writing.
I still like always, although I must admit that it (the bear jam, positivist my ego compels me to admit it). Now leave, at least, to come all these wonderful people to fill a bit in the afternoon. When I get bored of emptying all, let me be filled with dreams, kissing, breath (breathing is important), music, pictures, texts and stories.
course today, nothing. Should study and no one would come to play at home. Or drink milk. Then I get bored of me empty all day and need (or I like to think I need, that that matter) to write my life to the world.
Now I'm going to water a small plant and dream about my trip to London. I am leaving on Saturday and I have tickets to see sonic youth (and, if cheap enough, maybe I'll see you tiger). Anyone know of something nice to do out there?
(the afternoon passed, and, as usual, I go to daily. Sometimes, only some or perhaps all, you own what happens. I like to feel that way with just a few lines written .)
(missed this more than I thought.)
