I feel kind of like a stranger to this blog now. It has been so long that I do not remember how I 'expressed' myself. I don't remember my style, if that existed. I don't remember what I would write, because now I can't tell at all what I should write and what I shouldn't. Better yet, I don't think I really have anything to say. Or... I'm really giving this too much thought. I am restless. I am fiddling fingers and tapping feet. I do not sleep unless influenced. I do not choose silence unless forced and resorted. I do not eat or even like food. I just feed cravings. I do not think I even really write. Just a miscellaneous stream of uninteresting thoughts that run down my arms to my fingers in ink to paper. Jordan told me he's been writing lately. I wondered what he writes about. He said he writes random and miscellaneous streams of thoughts. Except now he is trying to acquire a prose, his own certain style, he says. I never read any of his writings. Nor I ever will, knowing him. But he already seems more interesting than I will ever be. I don't mean to compare. I'm just so dull, I feel. But again knowing him, he probably believes himself just as dull as I find myself. I'm just intimidate by the idea of what I am doing. Fucking writing.
I am spending my night listening to the new self-titled Bon Iver album. It's tasteful. Incorporating more instruments. The drums are louder, more significant. The guitars are just as lovely but less acoustics. His voice. It reminds me of Vegas. Because his voice reminds me of the first album. Which reminds me of Vegas. So it all still reminds me of Vegas. I haven't quite reached an affinity for this album. I'm simply playing it in my background. It's like small talk with music. This is what we do. It's like building relationships...except with an album. It's not as ridiculous as it sounds. It takes time to get to know an album.
"And at once I knew I was not magnificent
hulled far from the highway aisle
(jagged vacance, thick with ice)
I could see for miles, miles, miles"
