Running.
The rush fills me as the unavoidable rush to reach the train overwhelms me. My friend, is it my friend? We both are running. We both are trying to catch the train before it leaves the station.
The scene is desert like. Cactus everywhere. Sand, Dirt. Cactus full of spikes, prickly spikes. Shrubs of cactus are trying to make me fall. I’m whizzing past them in a blur. It doesn’t matter.
I’ve got to catch the train!
Why does the road seem so long as my destination gets closer and closer. I think its getting closer, is it? I see it in the distance. Down the mountain path.
I jump. I jumped off the top of the mountain. I land on the dusty dirt path avoiding all the cacti that surrounds this landscape. I do a roll kind of thing and get back up still running.
Why is there such an urgency to reach the train? I don’t know. Just get to it. Now. Before it leaves.
Did I just clear several feet of ground in that jump? I’ve got to jump again. Bam a few hundred feet just got cleared. How the fuck am I clearing this? It must not be a serious dream. I’m fucking evidently clearing hundreds of yards and avoiding all the sharp prickly cacti that seems to stick out everywhere.
The tunnels of smoke are clearly visible as I am getting closer and closer to the station. They’re white, winding up spirally reaching for the sky. The description of the train doesn’t matter, but the carts that I’m trying to reach to does.
They are wooden carts probably four to five feet enough room for about five people. All dirty looking. They have beards, Whiskers everything that you’ll see in a western. Dirty cowboys. With the cowboy hats and everything. Used and abused, not new looking like they’re fucking noobs. Dirty men, kinda like the miners of old. A few of them have cigars in their mouths. Why are they even on these carts? Where are they going? The world seems to be beating them down and they’ve had enough Perhaps this train wherever it is going is the escape everyone needs and wants. Their faces, beaten down, weathered men. Some look dangerous, some harmless. Some are chewing tobacco. Some spit outside the cart.
The cart is only goes up waist high. Everything is visible, a full 360 with no windows, nothing blocking your view. These men spit out their spits with nothing in their way. Even if there were a window, they wouldn’t care.
This is only half of it. I lost my momentum to write it down.
The rush fills me as the unavoidable rush to reach the train overwhelms me. My friend, is it my friend? We both are running. We both are trying to catch the train before it leaves the station.
The scene is desert like. Cactus everywhere. Sand, Dirt. Cactus full of spikes, prickly spikes. Shrubs of cactus are trying to make me fall. I’m whizzing past them in a blur. It doesn’t matter.
I’ve got to catch the train!
Why does the road seem so long as my destination gets closer and closer. I think its getting closer, is it? I see it in the distance. Down the mountain path.
I jump. I jumped off the top of the mountain. I land on the dusty dirt path avoiding all the cacti that surrounds this landscape. I do a roll kind of thing and get back up still running.
Why is there such an urgency to reach the train? I don’t know. Just get to it. Now. Before it leaves.
Did I just clear several feet of ground in that jump? I’ve got to jump again. Bam a few hundred feet just got cleared. How the fuck am I clearing this? It must not be a serious dream. I’m fucking evidently clearing hundreds of yards and avoiding all the sharp prickly cacti that seems to stick out everywhere.
The tunnels of smoke are clearly visible as I am getting closer and closer to the station. They’re white, winding up spirally reaching for the sky. The description of the train doesn’t matter, but the carts that I’m trying to reach to does.
They are wooden carts probably four to five feet enough room for about five people. All dirty looking. They have beards, Whiskers everything that you’ll see in a western. Dirty cowboys. With the cowboy hats and everything. Used and abused, not new looking like they’re fucking noobs. Dirty men, kinda like the miners of old. A few of them have cigars in their mouths. Why are they even on these carts? Where are they going? The world seems to be beating them down and they’ve had enough Perhaps this train wherever it is going is the escape everyone needs and wants. Their faces, beaten down, weathered men. Some look dangerous, some harmless. Some are chewing tobacco. Some spit outside the cart.
The cart is only goes up waist high. Everything is visible, a full 360 with no windows, nothing blocking your view. These men spit out their spits with nothing in their way. Even if there were a window, they wouldn’t care.
This is only half of it. I lost my momentum to write it down.
Yeah I said, you ain’t gotta, you ain’t gotta leave
My bad, I know this isn’t usually your scene
But don’t worry about it girl, just be yourself
And I swear, I ain’t gonna, I ain’t gonna say a thing
Now go just have the time of your life, the time of your life, let it go
Go go go, have the time of your life, time of your life, baby let it show
Time of Your Life - Kid Ink .
Be advised though, it's a rap song and this is an alternative site so I know I'll get shit for posting up stuff like this bbbuuuuut Fuck You.
Why the absence of blogs or writing? There's really nothing to write about. It's either really irrelevant or really really mundane with the same shit happening day after day. SUP WITH THAT?
However if writing is my craft, I need to practice. Writing down the thoughts in my head instead of keeping it in there. Maybe I'll be as popular and good as the writers of this time, maybe not. Why not try to work on it and get better.
I recently turned 25. Quarter life ( If I get to live that long ) . Quarter life crisis? Perhaps. Decisions Decisions.
Lately it has just been: Work Gym Sleep. Sounds fun eh?
My bad, I know this isn’t usually your scene
But don’t worry about it girl, just be yourself
And I swear, I ain’t gonna, I ain’t gonna say a thing
Now go just have the time of your life, the time of your life, let it go
Go go go, have the time of your life, time of your life, baby let it show
Time of Your Life - Kid Ink .
Be advised though, it's a rap song and this is an alternative site so I know I'll get shit for posting up stuff like this bbbuuuuut Fuck You.
Why the absence of blogs or writing? There's really nothing to write about. It's either really irrelevant or really really mundane with the same shit happening day after day. SUP WITH THAT?
However if writing is my craft, I need to practice. Writing down the thoughts in my head instead of keeping it in there. Maybe I'll be as popular and good as the writers of this time, maybe not. Why not try to work on it and get better.
I recently turned 25. Quarter life ( If I get to live that long ) . Quarter life crisis? Perhaps. Decisions Decisions.
Lately it has just been: Work Gym Sleep. Sounds fun eh?
So this was me (╯°□°）╯ ┻━┻
━┳┳━ q(´∇｀) and this is JamesAB
He restored my account! Lol many thanks James I guess I'll be around for another year LOLOLOL
oh
━┳┳━ q(´∇｀) and this is JamesAB
He restored my account! Lol many thanks James I guess I'll be around for another year LOLOLOL
oh
My days are limited on this website. The account is going to go grey and I do not have the funds nor the will to renew it. Let's see what happens. (╯°□°）╯ ┻━┻
Name dropping blog because I explored a little bit of L.A. today.
Feeling a little cooped up within this house, I decided to hit up X to go to her coffee shop that she found. I had gotten there before she did so I was sitting in the van waiting for her phone call. The next thing you know, I found the bag of kettle corn my brother left behind when we were at the fair. SCORE! Almost stale, yet sweet; it was delicious, the best kind of popcorn out there.
It was a nice little place on the corner with plenty of tables. Inside and out with a huge back room seen through visible glass. There was huge machines! The service there was very exquisite. Plenty of workers walking around to give out food, serve, help, do anything that you might need that is within their bounds. X and I conversed for briefly an hour before she had to go to work.
FUCK boring.
Feeling a little cooped up within this house, I decided to hit up X to go to her coffee shop that she found. I had gotten there before she did so I was sitting in the van waiting for her phone call. The next thing you know, I found the bag of kettle corn my brother left behind when we were at the fair. SCORE! Almost stale, yet sweet; it was delicious, the best kind of popcorn out there.
It was a nice little place on the corner with plenty of tables. Inside and out with a huge back room seen through visible glass. There was huge machines! The service there was very exquisite. Plenty of workers walking around to give out food, serve, help, do anything that you might need that is within their bounds. X and I conversed for briefly an hour before she had to go to work.
FUCK boring.
