there are dreams that are realistic.
but you can see those in the daytime.
sir, tell me dreams of color.
the sacred hope of finding some meaning in between these vast expansions of grey reality.
let us, with sledgehammers and pretty words, break open the damns of our existence letting clean life flow over the dry bones of skill we have painfully acquired.
the reason why a musician practices is so that when the music decides to use him he wont be found unprepared.
i practice life.
11:34 a.m. - 2005-12-27
Recent entries:
Awake in My Tiny Cage - 2014-11-03
God. - 2014-10-27
I remember me. - 2014-10-17
The Paper - 2014-10-13
A Post About Not Doing Anything - 2014-10-12
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