memory lanes

Bloom

it takes time, it takes time to develop, to get better, to feel normal again after facing something as outstretched and obscure as the situation that had decided to direct me. I understand I am human, everyone experiences what they do, but as for I, I just so happen take everything very personal. Assumption being made that life for everyone is very personal, obviously, if you weren't living your life for you, if you weren't wrapping moments around your existence, your passions, what else would you be living for? I feel like my words are very diluted. I don't read much, but I have a tendency to think I'm a writer, I'd like to write about everything and anything, but I only say that because I have not actually rationalized any idea worth wrapping around, and with that being said I simply mean I haven't taken the time to do so, I like to let things develop today, I've decided I'll become a sifter of ideas, a pot of soiling fertilizer, allowing ideas to seed inside of me, I'll water the ones worth living, the ones with the biggest bloom.

Board designs

(setting up an etsy atm) Have so many ideas that need to be on the bottoms of boards.

Posion Panda

?

Why do I feel like I don't have any time?

Plan.

Well, 4/3/13; 3:40pm. Cup of coffee and Thom Yorke keeping me warm, feels like a gloomy sunday afternoon. My schedule is completely off. I need to move out of his house that I've been accustomed to for 20 years now, but I'm not just going to leave without a plan, just yet at least. I want to establish something before I venture. My hands are sweaty from not realizing how anxious my set aside thoughts were. Part of me wants to lock myself up for a year just to set my mind straight, but with the luxury of walking around my house butt naked and vibrating the house with music. I feel like living on an edge, maybe I'll pick up mountain climbing, taking on the highest obstacles that nature has to offer. Reaching the top, a token of gratitude towards the land and a victorious celebration to mark off for this lifetime. I've been thinking a lot about what it means to be successful, what does it take, who is involved? (side note: save up money, anyway to save up money, make fucking money, save up, laptop, write daily, write, write, write, write, make, create, fuck, FUCKKK, i want so much it's hard to sit still but I can't get up yet you feel me, fucking I just need to find a way to derail myself from excitement, how do you disable excitement, good anxious thrills that wiggle in my blood stream, I love so much, okay so that will be my alter ego, a careless by stander. My mind must be the reservoir that furnishes the layer in which my thoughts must collect, otherwise, I leak them out so frequently, so carelessly I should say effortlessly, so bound to a reassuring release that resorts in pure pleasure it's easily prone to be taken advantage of. Feeling me.