25, 16, 36, 49, 64, ...

2, 3, 5, 10, 7, but who's counting. I would like to sleep through this one, in a bed of grass and leaves and rocks, or under a blanket of cotton and smoke, ghosts in my lungs, stars in my eyes, meaningful and meaningless, one in the same. I would like to sleep through this one, and possibly the next. Avoiding commitments and obligations, promising nothing to no one not excluding mineself. I would like to sleep through this one and the next five, unawoken, woken refreshed, woken anew, bright, shining, alive, tackier than any sequined set of chaps, a vest, or fake eyelashes. I would like to sleep through this one, instead, I'll walk around with ghosts in my lungs, tress in mine eyes, and porches in the back of mine head. I'll promise everything to no one and nothing to everyone, not excluding mineself. Ill rise in the late morning hungover and cloudy, groggy, undercaffinated and dehydrated. I'll arise like I had in the ones preceding. Old, worn, worked, tarnished, duller than a generic hoddie. I'll walk around with saints in my lungs and ghosts in mine eyes.

I'm worth the wait,

I promise.

As of late,

While you were searching for substance and meaning I was searching for substances and anything to get me high, anything to get me by.

The possibility for tons of possibilities is completely possible.

It's quite possible that I'll be alone for the rest of my life, and it's a possibility that I'd like to think I am totally okay with, and would like to think that I have been for quite some time. The idea, in and of itself, of living by myself for the rest of my life is not all that bad; there are no real strings attached to any one person or place, which makes for a world of possibilities, quite literally. But that's so boring, and I'm going to finish this later.

And you'll

forget by the time you go to bed and the sun sneaks through your window.

You're too predictable. You break up, fall apart, call me up, say you miss me, hang out, find a guy, phase yourself out, say you miss me, fall apart, call me up, say you miss me, get things pieced together, phase yourself out, say you miss me, fall apart ... repeat ad libitum.

There are days and strange ways ,,,

I've got things on my mind, and tip of my tongue, and edges of my teeth that I'd love to say but would make you blush and tie your guts into knots. Things I'd love to say that could shatter your world and send everything flying. That could completely change the way you looked at all of this if only you'd listen.
And I've got things written down in notebooks and on pieces of paper that could send you out in tears and me into the hospital. Things I'd love for you to read that could piece everything together and keep it all under wraps. That could completely rearrange everything in your mind, if only you'd listen.
And I've observed and seen things here and there and out and about and everywhere that you've seen too. Things that keep it fresh, things that remind you, things that never let you forget how wonderful the world is. Things that you've seen but never ever notice that make it all worthwhile. That lift and place and tug and pull at all of the strings that you swear don't exist but tug at your gut.

And you can say it's evolution. That we evolved this idea to keep us alive but our molecules have been places, and the things inside of us that keep us going are as old as the universe. Our subatomic particles interact and one day they're going to discover this.
There are things we don't know about.

And I know things that would shatter your world and leave you in ruins
and these things help me sleep at night.
These things make it make sense.
Constantly reminding me
that there are things that we do not yet know about.
Things that are going on with or without us.
Things that will continue to go on with or without us.

Double-whammy.

I guess he was in a (straight) dry spell for 7 years and then dated a guy for two and after the breakup wasn't sure if he was into dudes or not.

... moving right along.

I'd love to sit and talk with you. To sit and laugh with you and tell stories with you. I'd love to hang out with you and go to parties with you and tell people our stories together. I'd love to have you over. I'd love to. I'd love. I'd love you. I'd love to go to parties with you and tell people our stories together. I'd love to sit with you and tell stories together. I'd love to sit and talk with you.
And I'd love to have beers with you and smoke pot together. I'd love to go camping with you. And road-trip together.
But even more
I'd love to. I'd love to have that response to anything from you. To whatever you'd like to do.
But you never do. You'd like to, but never love to. Not unless it was anything else.
I'd love, but you don't. You're comfortable, and make yourself at home.
But you're a nomad just like me, only you've found more home than me.
And I'd love, but you don't. You're comfortable and will make yourself at home.
And make a new home and never share it. And you'll find yourself alone.
You'd love to, 'cause you're a nomad just like me. And I'm comfortable, you can make yourself at home.
You always do. You love it, and it's comfortable, and it's home.
I'd love to, but you don't.
You never do.

Wrong tree,

my bad. I'd like to not bark up the wrong tree at least once before I graduate, or at least before I die. It would be really cool to be into someone, who was also into me. And it would be nice to make a move away from the ambiguous, questioning, misleading, easily misinterpreted straight guys, too. This is more or less a Flg. specific issue as of late though. Anyway.

By the way, the concerto was becoming a highly developed genre by this time, and had already been adopted by Bach years before with his own Brandenburg concertos as well as his transcriptions of Vivaldi's concertos and his own into concertos for harpsichord. Furthermore, many of Bach's contemporaries were writing concertos at this same time including, but not limited to, Handel, Telemann, Corelli, and Albinoni, just to name a few.

Concerted music had also become the norm by now with a capella music falling out of favor. Examples of this include much of Bach's cantatas, his passions, his mass segments, and his Missae as well as various mass settings from all over, like Dresden which featured the rich, virtuostic masses of Zelenka.

Courtesy of http://www.thehundreds.com/wordpress/. I may, or may have not, have added to, and/ or subtracted from, the blog that I coped and pasted this from.
Love,
Chris

THE 2000s

The Internet. 9/11. Singles. Nike Dunks. Postmodernism. The Republican Party. The Middle East. iEverything. Paris Hilton. Emo (music and state of mind). Coffee. Bright Colors. Globalization. Sober. Healthcare Corruption. American Apparel. Denim. Losing Religion. Terrorism. HBO. Shepard Fairey. Yoga. Blogging. A Bathing Ape. Jessica Alba. Christian Audigier. Marijuana. City of God. Scarves. Irony. Fairfax. Kanye West. Digital Photography. War. The ‘70s. ”Reality.” American Idol. Stupidity. Popped Collars. Wheat Paste. New Era 59/50. Myspace. Homosexuality. Zip-Up Hoodies. Corporatization. Turning 20. Going Green. Minorities. World of Warcraft. Malcolm Gladwell. Wireless. Patterns. Eminem. Obesity. Los Angeles. The Hills. Korean Yogurt. Hypebeast. Napoleon Dynamite. Kobe. Pornography. Customizing. MILFs. Radiohead. Overnight Success. Comic Con. Luxury. Trucker Caps. Air Soles. Dressing Differently. Judd Apatow. Steroids. Islam. Downloading. Skateboarding Trends. Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie. Skulls. Fixed Gear. Rick Roll’d. Giant Robot. The Sopranos. Web Humor. H&M. American Guilt. Ari Gold. Survivor. Hate. Futura 2000. Alternative Fuel. Sushi. Brown Hair. Track Jackets and Allover Print. White People. Cynicism. MP3s. Pixar. MMA. Kid Robot. Streetwear.

2009

Gaga. Beards. Tom’s Shoes. The End of the World. Vampires. Infidelity. Barack Obama. Jersey Shore. Facebook. Twitter. Taylor. Smartphones. 8 babies. Global Warming. Value. Kaws One. Skinny Denim. Abby Elliott is not quite the new Kristen Wiig. Yet. Medicinal Marijuana. Dancing. The End of Streetwear. Vulcanized Soles. Tattoos. Blowing Up Overnight. The Hangover. All Black Everything. Black Hair. China. Crewnecks. Kindle. Lindsay Lohan. Kid Cudi. Solids. The Democratic Party. Gourmet Hamburgers and Hot Dogs. Ignorance. Flannels. Social Networking. Aziz Ansari. Complacency. Skateboard Sport. Inglorious Basterds. Graffiti. Feeling 23. User-Generated. Radiohead Copycats. Korean Tacos. Supra. CNN. Dressing like Everyone Else. Digital Videography. SXSW. Tumblr. Inglorious Basterds. Trad. Kobe vs. Lebron. Hulu. Megan Fox. Comic Movies. The Lakers. Latinos. The Yankees. Homophobia. G-Shock. The Berrics. The ‘80s. Ripping. Top Shop. The Kardashians. Cupcakes. Where the Wild Things Are. The Economy. Snuggie. Racism. Healthcare Reform. Smurf Beanies. Internet Cats. Techno. Flagstaff. The Death of Print. American Downfall. Fallon is NOT the new Conan. Conan is NOT the old Conan. Modern Warfare. Swine Flu. iPhone apps. Dying Young. Branding. Lil’ Wayne. Cougars. Monetizing the Internet. Hamsters. Inglorious Bastedrs.

2010 AND BEYOND

Apple Tablet. On-Demand. Apathy. Getting Older. The Weather. Jessica Lowndes. The XX. Quality. Los Angeles Rap. Alice in Wonderland. Re-thinking the Internet. Comic Books. Joan Jett. The ‘90s. Socialism. E-commerce. Live Feed. DeLorean. Reading. Drawing. Blowing Out Overnight. Privacy. The Independent Party. Grad. School. Sam Rockwell. Football. I mean Soccer. Underage. Dressing Like Yourself. Thom Yorke. Pullover Hoodies. Navy Blue and Ash Heather. Getting some. Homosexual Culture. Healthcare Insurance Reform. George Lopez. Education. Turning 30. Olivia Munn. Blonde Hair. The Death of Irony. Materials. Art Basel. Cupsoles. Phx. The Hundreds. The Rebirth of Streetwear. Lebron. Marijuana Legalization. The Death of Adolescence. American Pride. Kick Ass. Vegetarianism. Korean Food. Hypersexuality. Flg. Film. Dr. Dre. Baggy Denim. World of Warcraft: Cataclysm. How to Make It in America. Asians. Skateboarding Culture. Surf. Iron Man 2. Camouflage. More pot. Hair not Hats. Illustration. Classic Colors.