Matter Of The Fact Is...

I yearn for anonymity and popularity at the same time.

I yearn for solitude for me to rue and reflect and repent yet also I yearn for company to revive and recharge and regenerate.

I treasure the slow lazy afternoons accompanied by a book and a cold drink, with some music turned down low enough to hear but not loud enough to listen to. Me in my old tshirt and khaki shorts, putting the book down every now and then to pick up the Epiphone and start strumming some notes together. When my fingers start to ache, I'll return to my duck down heaven and slide away into the pages of the book again.

I treasure the loud crazy nights with the blokes, we'll be cussing and eating and laughing and drinking. No dress code required, anything goes. No need for formalities, no need for niceties. Nothing said gets taken to the heart, ever. That's only possible when there's no malice involved, that's why I don't mind being cussed at for hours by these blokes. It's tough love, but it's love all the same. All for one and one for all, oh the cliché-ness of it.

Whoops, another pointless entry.