I just wish words flowed though me the way music does. it makes it so difficult. in no way does that mean I would trade it, as per usual, it’s just life using everything against you. again. words are so easy to get out. I’m still learning the music I’m spewing. it just bottle’s everything up.
it’s difficult. but it’s beautiful. most people don’t really have anything worth listening to either way.
my god this is one of the most pathetic tumblr pages in the word.
I really need to deconstruct and reorganize. if I find time of course…
what if it just keeps piling up. it’s really looking that way. what are you supposed to do then?
the one day anyone can smoke it
Nik Christensen.
‘Frank Johnston: ‘A Northern Night’, 1917
