Funny how the more that happens the less you want to write because you just don't have time.

It's when the roar fades and the smoke clears and you're left alone again with that clock tick tick ticking at your memory, pulling at images you thought you'd have forever, that you realize maybe you should have made a back up. Because everything goes and changes so quickly, and in the down time you lament the loss of The Intensity when you were too busy living to make a record for later.

I don't know what I'm saying. Just how do you memorize the Best Years of Your Life when you can't even string a coherent set of words together?

You wait for the down time, I guess. And you sit in your underwear and wonder what happened and why you still haven't started that damn 3-page paper and you throw a towel over that damn clock and hum loudly the National Anthem and the Queen's March and promise yourself you'll remember enough.

Because living comes before recording. It's a mantra. Repitition is believing.

BullshitBullshitBullshit.

ink :: graphite