I took a bit of a break from being a useful person this weekend. There were dance floors that needed feet, ears that needed thousands of teenage girls to scream into them, sketchy parking lots that needed company, actors that needed applause, hearts that needed to be wrenched.
I was quite happy.
There is much negative self-talk, and it returned yesterday in full force. I preach to my gymnasts about positive thinking and thought replacement before their big skills. I talk about how easy it is to psyche one's self out. I should know.
Today I'm working on a short piece about paranoia. I thought it would be fiction, but it seems to lean toward non. And if it's going to be non, and if I send it out, I wonder if I should attach my real name to it. Because I'm paranoid. And so life follows art.
#169: Bon Iver, "Perth"
#170: Ghosts of Paraguay, "Needing You"
#171: Mt. Eden Dubstep, "Still Alive"
#172: Morgan Page, "Fight For You"
#173: John Denver, "Country Roads"
2 comments:
You gotta risk it for the biscuit!
Happiness is a warm gun, son.
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