The way I see it, I can either build a dream life and risk ending up in a flaming mess, or do the same thing every day and burn out in a pile of ashes. Brave the unknown, or stick with safe, predictable comfort.
Limbo rhymes with Timbo.
Brand New needs to make new music before I grow up.
I find it fascinating this desire to write something, despite it being such an utterly difficult process. I could spend forever just sitting here trying to come up with something. And for what? Simply to satisfy this inexplicable need to put words together? But why? WHY.
Stay up ‘til you wake up.
And what if you don’t have a dream to chase?
More than I realize.
There is a certain quality in certain people that I do not have the vocabulary to enclose in a single word. It is a quality that keeps these people unaffected by society, a protective forcefield, if you will, against real or imagined taunts and ridicules. This is not to mean that they are detached from the world; on the contrary, they are very much involved in the world and drink from it its sweetest nectars. They live their lives the way that they want, limited only by their own limits. It is a quality that we all once possessed as children, when we created worlds for ourselves and indulged in touching every which thing that engaged our attention. But as we aged we grew fearful. We became afraid of touching things, and we became afraid of being touched. And this fear hinders us. It is a fear that stems from society, a mindless, bodiless entity that we lost the ability to ignore. But now and again we run into those who were too busy enjoying life’s splendors to be afraid. And it is this quality, this cool disregard for the opinions of the masses, that captures my utmost affection.