Rachmaninoff Again

Piano Concerto Number One in F Sharp Minor. How do you know if it’s any good or not? Just finished watching Annie Hall for the first time. I think we need some aesthetic guidelines to put this in a social perspective. What does he say? God damn this shit is rough.

Fuck it. I sat down and said to myself, “The only thing I’m going to do is work on this guy’s book project. I can either just sit here drinking this coffee, or I can work on the project, and nothing else. I can sit here for the next two hours and I’m not going to do anything else.” I said to myself. So now I’m here writing about how I just said that to myself.

Today is pretty much the greatest day of my life. I’ll never have another day like this one. I love it twice as much as yesterday, but only half as much as tomorrow.

I was going to start believing in God again, just for something to do. I listened to that song from Pocahontas, Sing With All the Colors of the Wind or whatever it’s called, you know what I’m talking about. I listened to it in a Zipcar driving through Bed-Stuy and I thought to myself, everything really does have a life, have a spirit, have a name. Then I got home and broke my brand new French Press. Poor bastard. I took the morning off to get over it.

But no, I mean it. We’ve got to clean up house around here. Got to get positive. Have some goals and get some religion. The only thing that bothers me about that is Carl Sagan. How did that son of a bitch walk around looking so happy all the time. Probably because he was on TV. He was probably a miserable bastard.

Shit, I’m still in my twenties. Fuck I thought I was leaving it all behind. It was just waiting for a keyboard to latch on to.

This coffee tastes good. The trees outside my window are pretty. They’ll all change and be dead soon. Ah fuck, why do I have to know that.

This coffee tastes good. The trees outside my window are pretty. This music is pretty, too. I am comfortable.

Goodnight then.

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