Syndicated Life
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Hope you can follow the gravy train that is my line of reasoning
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Thursday, April 24, 2003
I could really use some freestyle walking right about now. State Street, here I come!
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Wednesday, April 23, 2003
The vines creep up, twisting, entangling, disabling the latch so key would neither fit nor find its niche behind the living wall. No light filters through the weathered slats, the hinges bound in rusted stains. Slowly, in time, the arch fades to patches and ribbons of gold as the emerald edifice enflames in a crimson blaze and is then buried in a deep blanket of frost and mist and winter white. Crippled bark, barren remains, frozen by the stillness of night and the relentless chill of the day. No longer will the keeper find his way within, nor the treasure therein reclaim.
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Monday, April 21, 2003
The fam was here this weekend. It was really good, but really makes me wonder, too. Makes me wonder what kind of family I’ll have once I finally have one of my own. What kind of wife will I be? What kind of mom? Will I be a good mom? Will my kids actually listen to me or just pretend they’re sorry when they openly disobey me? How much longer do I have with my existing family? Am I missing out on something by being so far away from them? Would I actually be able to function closer to them?
I believe that I am living in the right place for me right now. Nashville’s such a great town in many respects. I love the laid back feeling, the Southern courtesy, the music. Oh, the music. There aren’t enough places in this world where you can hear acts that are better live than recorded. There’s just something about the raw energy of a live show that is typically lost in studio production. Granted, we have some of the most horrendous musical acts around, as well, but when you find the really good ones, it makes the others fade into a shadow of a memory.
This weekend my family and I went to a park and saw Patty Griffin live. Normally, seeing live musicians makes me want to go home and write and play songs. Seeing Patty, however, is different. Her talent amazes and captivates me. Her lyrics are invasive, yet welcomingly so. They inspire me, but in the sense that I revere her style and grace and want to lock it away: hauntingly fresh, unadulterated, living melodies, stirring the dusty corners of my mind. She even made my mom cry and my seven-year-old nephew sat still for a song or two. Now that’s impressive.
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