I found my keys!!

Apparently, I threw them into buddy Derek's bag! I'm so glad I found them. Yesterday was very satisfying, I found my keys, I lost a game in soccer but we played really well all things considered. I have until next week to fix my feet, my bunyans are killing me!

Today was surprisingly warm, and the sun was shining nicely. I spent the day at home, cleaning and such. Tonight I have an assignment to finish and then it's back to the grind tomorrow. I was planning out my week while waiting for food in the Chinese food court today. Man, am I going to be busy. From now until April 21st it's going to be rough! Thank goodness taxes aren't due until the end of april; guess when I'm gonna tackle mine!

Bun Cuba, is the decision. I'm not going with my mgmt crew anymore, I aint got enough extra scratch. But I'm hoping I'll have some flow by mid-summer and I can do a cost-effective last minute trip to a nice hot island. Anyone down?

Anyway, I'm not particularly in the mood to attack my emotional or philosophical innards right now, nor do I have the time to. So I'm going to try and keep Jamdora's box locked tight until the 21st of April. But after that, prepare yourself for some intense philosophical investigations. It'll be worth a good skim-through, I promise!

Guess it's about that time eh chaps? ...Righto.

This song I hear, it plays all day for me,
With every minute, a new melody,
Each word is new, each word cries out to me,
Each word is fear, each word is liberty.

But I...
Don't wanna tell you how I feel,
Don't wanna tell you why I dooo,
Don't wanna tell you what feels real,
But don't wanna treat this like it's new.

Don't wanna lose the days we've had,
Don't wanna have you feeling sad,
Don't wanna make you think I've lied,
But I gotta let you know how much I've cried.

I've cried, I've cried,
Those tearless soulful cries,
Wake up, shake it off, dry those eyes,
Man up, try again, chin to the skies.

- - - - - - - - -

Clearly i'm not a musician, nor a poet. I am fatigued after only one verse. After this semester I will have to undergo some 'literary conditioning.'

Today I watched Frida, again. I focused on the dialogue where Frida exclaimed that what separates her from the artist is that her paintings only speak of her personal pain. She was corrected and shown that her art displays the pain that we all feel which is why her canvas speaks to us all. With me, my problem is the opposite. Where she failed to understand that her pain is shared by others, I know this to be true of my pain all too well. I convert my frustrations into the domestic currency we call words and offer them to the general public in hopes of measely returns. What I now need to do is to paint; paint not a future for myself, but simply an experience. An experience of my own, of our own.