My 30 is equivalent to your 80...

I went through an old box of writing from jr. high to 94/95.

Strange indeeed.

I went through about half of it before I just gave up and decided that some things in dusty boxes are a pure joy to re-remember, but there's also an aspect of it that it sad. Sad in the sense that you've wasted a lot of time with your family and that you should've been a better corresponder. It's a kick though, to see some good, quality stuff that you wrote way back a million years ago.

Writing on a blog is not what that little boy from a long time ago would've expected to be doing in 05'. But, little boy would've been fucking floored that you could write something, and then have people instantly read it.

I can hear the trees sneezing tonight. Bless you.

I can hear nothing but Jack Kerouac reading something on my itunes and the hum of the air conditioner.

Spike Jones is on now, and I must end this. Nobody, and I mean, nobody can write while Spike Jones is on in the background.

Boy, man or sneezing tree...