Been cleaning today. Cleaning out pockets, drawers, the car, etc. Just trying to get a leg up on the clutter. Often when I am at work, I will scratch down a note to myself about something that I intend to write about later. Mostly I get around to it within a couple of days, remembering the circumstances and blogging the thought or observation when I have a minute.
Sometimes, though, I find a note and I have no fucking idea what it means. Or I know what it means, but I have no recollection of whatever originally prompted it. Here are a few of those:
"Old man Billy."
Uh, who?
"Pratchett's 'Moral Center'"
Love Pratchett. What the hell does this note mean?
"A tattoo on your arm or your back is a sign of- I don't know. Rebellion? Individuality? A hidden (or not) artistic nature? A tattoo on your forehead is just a sign that you lack judgment."
Self explanatory, but I still don't know what prompted it.
"I envy musicians because it's hard to write like you fuck."
That last one I actually remember a little. What I mean is that although you can express yourself in writing, and you can convey passion and intensity of emotion to a reader, the actual act of writing is not nearly as sexy, the payoff not nearly as immediate, as strapping on a guitar and getting on stage and taking an audience. Of course, it's also harder for bands to avoid potential stalkers.
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