It's cold.

I'm cold. However, life gets better.

Things are shitty.

But things are good.

It's not black or white right now.

A strange shade of dim, slate grey.

In the forefront of my mind sits

Family

Education

Recent conquests

The leak in the pipes upstairs

Heartbreak

Violation

Beauty

Weather

Regrets

Upcoming adventures

Memorization

Dreams and goals

Loss

It all races in and out in a blur of color.

Mostly yellow, and that strange shade of grey.

Neutrality? I don't think grey is a symbol of neutrality. Quite the contrary. I believe grey is full of so many whirring emotions. I believe it has multiple facets, meanings and purposes.

I think grey is beautiful.

The YES can cure everything?

I think I know the answer.

I used to be so happy and content with myself....

When I was dancing and playing.

Things are in the shitter, yep. That's for damn sure.

But there is such light in the thought of dancing.

So fuck it. Fuck it all. I'm going to start dancing again. I'm going to dance every day. No matter what. That's the promise I'm making myself nos. I'm going to

Stretch

Dance

Stunt

Cheer

Choreograph

Compose

Play

DANCE.

Fuck yes dude. I do not have to give up cheer, or piano, or guitar just because I'm studying theatre.

Get ready Bay Area, get ready Southern Utah, get ready Las Vegas, get ready Salt Lake City. Because I'm coming in champion style. Beast mode. I'm taking the raw scraps I have and turning them in to a masterpiece and I'm going to rock this fucking world. With my goddam piano, with my goddam guitar and with my goddam BODY. Get ready for a big fucking change.

I was never happier, or more confident or sexier then when I was dancing.

I don't need anyone to validate me. All I need is my instruments. All three of them.

So here it is. I'm making a comeback. Try and stop me.

It's gonna be huge.

MAKE THE LOVE. PAINT THE PICTURE. WRITE THE SONG.

Fuck. FUCK. FUCK.

Shit has been so fucked up lately.

I don't know how much more of this shit I can take.

Where do I put all of this.

The only thing that makes sense, is what Slug says.

No happy ending, always off to a bad start.

Addictive.

And if I could show you, you would never leave it.

FUCK.

Fuck is the only word I can muster or hear or handle.

so

fuck

fuck

I don't know where to put all of this excruciating fucking pain.

Enough to put my name behind my ideals and neglect my logic twice daily.

Never.

Never.

MAKE THE LOVE. PAINT THE PICTURE. WRITE THE SONG.

NOT MY JOB

Dre rock the jewelry with the clear stones
And get on a nigga head like some earphones
I finna spit it, with a clear tone
Get yo attention, the biggest thang since the T.V. invention
Dope as yola, I'm a big shot, a show off
Plus I'm a big pimp, I get tow off
Fuck a good job, she need a good jaw
And sell BJ's until her mouth get raw
I'm from the California coast, beaches and bridges
Hit the cot, get ghost, no more sleepin' wit bitches
I got a coughnut, sittin' on wires
On Vogues bitch, not Michellin tires
Can't control my desires, I buy from Nordstroms not Fred Myers
Do a lot of weed, love my supplier
She keep it, fuck the blood out my supplier
Man I'm bigger than life, I do it Magnum
And bout these broke bitches, I'm through with havin' em'
Dre bogard, he shove and he push
And start war for nothin' like G.W. Bush
We be lovin' the kush, but only in the backwood
It ain't a backwood, it ain't all that good
I'm from the streets, where most need heat
But I slice a nigga up like some roast beef meat



I can bust you a rap, but anything else, not my job
I peel ya cap back, but anything else, not my job
I get ya for racks, but anything else, not my job
I make you a slap, but anything else, not my job


Bitch gon ask me to come with her to grocery shop
I told her straight up like this, "no siree bob!"
That's not my job, I don't do that
I'm a pimp slash rapper, I thought you knew that
And where yo dude at, should I serve em' the news
And let him know you finna be walkin' in some brand new shoes
Ooh, you a fool, gotta watch thy self
One false move, and you could stop thy self
Sometimes I'm not myself, I'm another man
I'm a rockstar, in another band
Plus I'm the man with plan in his hands
Soon we'll all be playing in sand
Cause to my estimations, and calculations
And all the money I made off the Rompalation
I finna get as many didgets that's on my license plate
I shit on some of these midgets bitch I can't wait


When I dip, they trip off what Furl dressed in
Plus I got a mouth full girl's best friends
I'm a back to the future new game kind of nigga
Y'all lames is plain, drinkin' the same kind of liquor
Wearin' the same kind of clothes, fuckin' the same kind of clothes
And you bedrock pimpin', meanin' yo games kind of old
You don't want it with me, I'll bother ya
So get lost pal, before I clobber ya
I got golden gloves, I give ya a new look
With stiff left and a sharp right hook
Niggaz know snitches, they ride and they go with them
It's all gravy, as long as they don't tell on them
Me and my team, see we a machine
Fuck with my mans, and I'ma have to intervene
I'ma sporco, and a sauncho
Always lookin' out for Benny Blanco

Maybe there's a god above,

But all I ever learned from love

Was how to shoot somebody

Who out drew you.

It's not a cry that you hear at night,

And it's not someone who's seen the light

It's a cold and it's a broken

Hallelujah.