I’m not really sure of what will go around here and what can I do or who can I follow and what would be the appeal of this place. The only thing I wished is that it was somehow an extension of my very own personal journal in an attempt to reach out and try to see if there’s something or someone or a subject, a point of view, a way of life – in summation: anything, that I could possibly relate to and learn with and interact with somehow.

Confusion appears to be clouding my mind this morning. I fell asleep – actually passed out while the five minute install was being done. I was rudely awoke drenched in sweat from my nightmares, none of which lately have been only a representation of our subconscious and its’ daily workings. They were visions alongside these subconsciousness projections, all meshed up and custom made to serve the purpose of sending me a message of a point of insight that I thought that maybe I could share partially, if anything. I only say “partially” simply due to the fact that this place will never replace my Underwood. Nor am I going to allow myself to be exposed in manners that might equally attract and/or repulse people that could have any sort of judgement over one’s deepest inner workings – it is impractical, absurd and simply too much exposure of oneself that many capitalize on in order to connect with others; as an example, in many social networks, people are not only bonded by common interests but also things that perchance they should keep to themselves and try to reason with them within a more realistic context and as such, apply that in real life rather than be following one another in a vicious circle of shortcomings, illnesses, and sundry things that need no exposure – unless you want to promulgate your weaknesses as a way to free yourself by actually shutting yourself within a demographic when nothing could be any more misleading than that.

I don’t want to be pigeonholed, neither be part of an oxymoron such a “group of lonely people” (one of the most fascinating displays of simply drawing attention to oneself, which is point in case here) nor anything that will single me out and include me in. That drift might be hard to catch, but you’ll pick up the pace eventually.

And so will I.

I’m F.C.; the rest doesn’t matter. My favorite things can’t simply be laid in its’ fullest extent by now, but hey, I like girls with interesting eyes, young and near my own age, such as Zooey Deschanel, Olivia Wilde and even Taylor Momsen. Things vary from time to time, and so do my feelings and moods and capabilities of operating in life. I like the blues. I used to be a woodwind player. Also a bassist and singer. I am an engineer. I have many skills and I lack many other skills. I was raised with the Beatles. I compose. I write. I draw and I paint. I have low tolerance to light. Sometimes it feels really good to be alone – no, most of the times. Sometimes, I feel alone. I miss some people. I run away from others. I work, with many things. I like Lucky Strikes and coffee, which I need to fix myself a nice hot black cup now. I do not indulge in mind altering substances. I have conflicting points of view that only reflect nothing but by modus operandi, depending on the situation and the moral, ethics and values as well as attitudes needing to be applied in said situation. I am honest. But I can lie. Or rather, omit. That would be the perfect choice of words, because I seldom measure them and have little to no regard whatsoever concerning how people will process the information, opinion on any given matter and/or the way I feel and/or think about it, and do about it. I still love but let go. I only read beat literature but eschew drugs, and have a tumultuous past with them. I love jazz; and oldies in general. Slide guitars played by the old men in the old times sound like home to me. My Underwood and my Remington used to be my favorite drum solos. They’re all broken now. No replacement parts to be found anywhere. One of my best friends is a beggar that doesn’t beg and can be found on Google Maps every time, every day in the same spot downtown and he doesn’t beg; he smiles.

And there’s no place like my place in the woods.

Coffee, journal and I’ll be right back on actual web logging. Welcome.


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