And The Breathing Is As Essential As The Feathered Wings

Well, well, well
My longest silence yet
I had meant to make these more frequent
But they seem to be getting further apart

I'm not sure why I do this
My wife doesn't even read it
Let alone anyone else
Save, Maybe Mattchewie
If there was an easy way to delete it all
I prolly would've by now

I'd say that I write here
Just to be writing something
Some sort of record of my life
Though most of it makes absolutely no sense
Cept to me, of course

Is the need to do so pathetic?
Do I write here because of the absense
of any real purpose in life?
Prolly.
Do I give a fuck?
No, not really, though I'm clearly thinking about it

I'd like to write about what I believe in
But i don't know what I believe in anymore
I could expound on all the religious crap
Or I could go on and on about the drugs i've taken
Or I could try to convince someone (no-one)
Why this record is better than that record
I could write about books I've read
I could write about my childhood
Or memories of past lives
Or how sad I used to be
Or how happy I am
Or how bored to death I am

I could write about the rat race
That I've reluctantly joined
That it's a necessary EVIL
Because I have mouths to feed
And a roof to keep over our heads
How I live outside my means
Or how my city is the most overpriced in the land (universe?)

Why I live somewhere
Or do something
Or say this or that
Because it "Feels Right"
What the fuck does that mean?

Should I worry that I question everything?
Is this the unravelling of my sanity?
I sit and write this while drinking a
ridiculously large "medium" drink
From some fast food chain shit
Staring 8 hours (or more) a day
At a fucking plastic light box
Feeling like i'm not doing enough work
Hanging shit on the walls to make it "comfy"

If i didn't need the money
And I didn't care what would happen next
I'd freak out and destroy my surroundings
Not because I'm angry
Or someone has wronged me
Or because I cannot take anymore...
No, just because I'm bored outta my mind, my brothers

Before writing this
I sat in my desk chair
And meditated on "Moss Garden" by db
I felt good, calm, light
I was a great eagle, flying high over the Himalayas
Flap, Flap, Flap, man this is hard stuff
You gotta get the timing just right
And the breathing is as essential
As the feathered wings
I felt my eyes moving inside my skull
Just the way, I assume, an eagle would

They say that only boring people get bored
Man, i really hope that that's not true
Who would want to be called boring?
But I have been bored all of my life
Like i'm expecting something fantastic to happen
And fantastic things have happened
Which only makes me want more, more often
But, i just cannot help it

I was just thinking how it would be amazing
To be an eagle again, but
I'll bet that even then I was complaining
About being bored...
I don't know, maybe i am boring...
That sucks if I am

Ok, i'm all done typing that word
It's like when there's a forest fire
Or a great snow storm
And the news goes on and on about it
And they say "fire" or "snow" like 50 times in 3 minutes
I just did that to myself with that "other" word
That shit drives me up the wall friends

I was just thinking about what an awful blog entry this is
However, if the point is to leave a legacy of myself
Well this will just have to stay in here
Because it is definately a part of who I am, unfortunely
I hope to have something more interesting to write next time...

Any requests????
That's an inside joke
From me to me
T to the Z