Classical Masterpieces

I am sitting in a dark room in my house, by myself listening to “Piano Concerto in C-Sharp Minor, Op.30” played by Dmitri (long ass last name) as the conductor and Geoffrey Tozer on Piano, on the music choice channel, per suggestion to provide me with inspiration. As you can tell, the night has gotten interesting, although wine could be a nice touch. Any way. Why do I keep back spacing, the one thing I said I wouldn’t do, I never used to hold my tongue. I must be getting old, perhaps wise. Yes wise, it’s fancier. Jesus the world is going to shit and I’m blogging. Turkey, France, fucking Florida, when will “they” be beating down my front door. Still listening to classical, and my thoughts move to Ben sleeping in the other room. Life before Ben just doesn’t exist, or it does but off in some far away land. Leave it there. I want the world to be better for him, the world that I saw as a child, I still think I see it sometimes and then reality bites me, hard. I wonder about other countries and people who live off of much simpler principles, food, shelter and such. Damn the complaining, damn it to hell I think. Get me that wine, ah shit who would I even be talking to if I were even talking instead of writing. What a silly feeling this classical music gives, like I’m at a fucking ball. Who even goes to the ball. I’m imagining meeting someone and being asked to a ball while people are all out there living on dirt floors. Ok time to lighten up, long day. Or was it really.

The London Symphony started playing now, back to the dark room. I have a very romantic picturesque notion. Wishing I could bring the tv to go outside with me and sit on the steps. Quiet out there, like being out in the woods at night listening to all of the bugs make their own sounds, sorta makes up a little rhythm. Why am I still writing, nothing is really coming out, I need human inspiration…

 

 

 

 

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