running, jumping, standing still.

so, one day of wiffle ball (with stick ball rules - not even a real game!) and my entire body is fucking sore. i'm in the worst shape of my life. i reached my physical prime when i was ten. seriously, i can''t swing a fucking bat without being sore for the next day or three. then softball last night. killer game. and yet again, i woke up feeling like an 80-year-old world war two veteran with shot knees, a droopy Achilles and a beaten rib cage. someone get me a hemorrhoid tube to sit on all week. i'll return it, no worries.

i told myself today that once i'm not sore anymore, i'll take up running again. i think it's something i just need to do. i don't want to be sore like this after some pussy physical activity each and every time (and last year after the annual softball game, i was). and i'm afraid i'll wake up from a night of fucking and be sore...oh wait.

and in conclusion, after so long without wearing sneakers, they make you feel like you're walking on clouds. man, i'm fucked.

musicbrain.

Night Three of Insomnia

My brain is a music box of sorts. But now I wish it had an off switch. I've been trying to sleep but just can't. Whether it's a band I've been listening to lately or a new song I've been working on; it's being composing in my mind.

This may sound crazy but the songs in my head keep me up at night.

Also, why do I find the need to scratch my mosquito bites until they bleed down my leg or until my arm is crimson?

take lots with alcohol.

Damn, this song is great.
I wish I could take credit for it.

cali-bound.

7/15/10 | 7:08am

With less than two hours of sleep, I'm surprised to be so wide awake and feeling good and ready. I've stopped biting my nails for the last two weeks or so and at 2am wide awake in bed, I resisted every urge to bite them down to the bloody bone. Success. Fear and anxiety has turned to impatience and excitement.

Well, I've got an hour til boarding time, For now, I'll just marvel in amazement at toddlers on leashes. Oh, and for some odd reason, the young couple waiting beside me looks very familiar. Hmm, oh well. Let's take to the cloudy-now-clearing-up-to-blue Jersey sky! Ciao!

jack d.

drunk off whiskey.

and it's only 10:20 here in fucking California.

I still can't believe I'm here, yet I'll be home in 2.5 days. What a different world.

let me run.

Well, it's finally here. it's happening. i have to wake up in less than five hours, shower, and head to the airport, where a ticket to California awaits me. I'm anticipating everything and the entire trip will be something to remember forever.

It will be a real eye-opener for me, since I've never seen the states passed Missouri. Anyway, the tales and stories and lessons will be grand.

Stay rad, Jersey.

we are all just lovers.

We walked two hours straight, thirty plus blocks. Penn Station to the water through Battery Park, Battery City and eventually, we arrived at the seaport. We had made it through the heat, drenched in happiness.

The back of a long line of kids of all kind awaited us. NY hipsters; the late 20s crowd; Mohawks, but not punks; cameras-around-necks, etc.

I could see Jersey City and New York City. One of my favorites and one I've never stepped foot in. Both looked like well-lit cardboard cutouts, perfectly aligned with the view from the island.

Well, Portugal. The Man was fucking incredible. I find it hard to listen to their songs now because they are all that much better live. Their albums don't do them justice, but hey, that's not their fault. I wish I was good enough in my lifetime to be half as good as them, with their ability to jam and send emotions up and down my spine. Damn!