Today has begun before I’ve had the chance to sleep off yesterday.

He is inside of the music as much as he is desperate to avoid those grasping grappling thoughts that are all too prevalent in the teenage mind, gnawing and tainting the innocent minds of mother’s baby to make him want to believe that he, above all odds, will achieve what most men only wish they could and regret not having done so into their late twenties and thirties.

She is living in Florida, locationally, but spiritually, her mind is roaming places wiccan and taut with whimsical dismay, thinking back on stillborn babies or the moments in life she found routes chosen for her rather than those she was waiting to have the chance to choose.

He is stuck with needles and living in his parent’s house with his girlfriend, talking to old friends about how one day he’ll get a job and have babies and own a home, but it’s Friday night and first he’ll have to deal with that.

She is exploring the possibility of escaping reality through physical motion, the further traveled, the more likely to find some success, some happiness, a field full of faeries to swirl around her and make a moon queen of her starry subjects.

He is sleeping, unaware at this young age of the concept of dreams or yesterday or tomorrow and only living in the immediate reality of Tonka trucks and stickers as reward for going to the bathroom instead of allowing himself immediate gratification.

I am sitting around assessing how each of these people have influenced me so greatly, writing down my life as if to chronicle my mistakes and successes for further study in some future life where I might sit under a giant redwood and read back over the trials of my existance and compile them all into one great American novel the likes of which have yet to be read through the Civil War, the Beat Generation and most likely some time into the future.

Rad is still a good word.

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