2:15 in the morning.
San Diego. Sticky Fingers coming out of the speaker, and despite the energy of the show, the fans, the people's whose nights were made by 4 dudes on stage making noise, still there is the emptiness, and the thoughts of ... Not sure who it is that reads this, but I notice it's difficult to leave it all out there. But why nor? It seems pointless to ever live a Moment outside of it. However, I suppose rationality isn't entirely sufficient in the happiness argument. Crazy as it is, I feel as though she is the missing half to me. The completion of my soul. The part that's missing, like a trio waiting for another player to complete the sound. And then there is fear, fear that it's all false, that neurosis is the only explanation and that this dream is anything but lucid. And it's been so long, but still the feeling persists. Love X Uncertainty = insanity or anything else. The offbeat was never scene.
x BOB RABBIT