Sometimes.

Sometimes, sitting in class, I daydream about being Godzilla. I sit there, and I think. And my body is restless. And something crys out to throw the desk across the room, to roar. Kind of crazy, I know. Boom. Boom. Stomping little cars. Not even for entertainment. Just because I have these things in my head. Its how it works. Grr. Phospholipids. Molecular Biology. Then...Godzilla!

Yeah. I know. Weird.

Truths.

I am no judge of Perel’s practice, but I am a judge of our sexual culture, and it seems to me that we are talking ourselves to death. We are talking our desire to death. Rather than make stilted little shows of transgression, perhaps we could regain some of sexuality’s transgressive energy by remystifying our eroticism rather than by demystifying it, by reveiling our desire rather than by rehearsing it ad nauseam, by rediscovering the power of wit and suggestion, sublimation and caesura.”

— Cristina Nehring [stilted little shows!] (via nvc, who writes well and digs up some seriously good shit.)

Downtown Andover.

When I was in sixth grade, bestowed upon me was this fantastic freedom, this newfound ability to go downtown. And so I did. Frequently, at the end of the week, me and some other sixth graders (who probably did not want me there, tagging along was sort of my specialty) would go downtown and do random things. Now, there really is nothing downtown that no other town has. We have a few pizza places, a library, Starbucks, Bruggers, a candy store, a CVS...Nothing special or great. So what did we do? We bought candy at CVS, hung out in the back of Bruggers, fucked around in the park. Pointless stuff.

So, my mom would always ask what I was going downtown, because moms seem to enjoy knowing that type of thing. And I would always have a pretty shitty answer, something like "I don't know, go to CVS, buy something at Bruggers, hang out." I would always wonder, "Why the hell does she ask me that kind of question? Isn't 'hang out' a satisfactory explanation of what I'm going to do?" Now, I know better, Moms have a compulsive need to know everything that happens with their child, firstly, and secondly, there is, literally, nothing to really do downtown. CVS is for running ERRANDS. It is not intended to be a fun hangout place for giggling preteens. Nor is the back of Bruggers, and you should not go to Starbucks and get fucking frappuchinos if you are a little giggling girl and do not drink coffee. At least get a normal people beverage that costs less than five dollars for a small. Starbucks is a coffee shop, not a dessert store. Sweet Mimis so obviously hates the humongous mound of backpacks that accumulates on their floor. And the park. Okay. It is not okay to take your sixth grade girlfriend to the park and make out. Or behind CVS. Or anywhere. It is daylight, and in public, and even when you are grown up that is incredibly obnoxious. Even if you took it to a fucking room, you are in sixth grade and that is weird. Wait. You will not regret it, and when you grow to be older and more mature, you will be glad.

Eventually, you sixth graders will realize you are not that old, and you are not the shit, even if you travel in giant hoards around downtown and think you are. Believe me, when you are my age you look like a little nugget child.

Downtown is not the place to run around and do stupid pointless shit. There are funner places to do that. Calm yo' hormones children! Soon enough you will come to your senses and realize downtown is not that great.

P.S. Sorry to the people who may read this and do not live where I do and will not understand this.

I have a severe case of the late-night gigglies.

Not to sound shallow, but girls are definitely the most beautiful things on this earth. Like, damn. Everything about them.
Women are the sensible and composed, the aesthetic and graceful gender whom oppose and counter the ludicrous and impulsive operation that is manhood. (Although sometimes they go completely crazy and/or make little sense.)
Its funny how they fit together. Like a puzzle. Yeah. So, girls fuckin' rock.
Attention Deficit Disorder. Said with a french accent, sans deodorant.
I want to swim. Swimming is fun. Mom won't let me renew my YMCA membership. I have issues with this.
Attention Deficit Disorder Moment II.
What the fuck is with people who are proud of their ridiculous drug-ridden activities? Sorry, but posting on facebook that you are "sooooo fuckedd upp" is stupid. If you're that attention starved that you feel the need to post the illegal activities in which you participate on facebook, well, I hate to break it to you, but that won't get the attention you want either. Sorry. I have no issue with the drugs or alchohol themselves, its just that those things certainly don't make you cool. They aren't something to brag about. Sorry to bruise your ever so delicate ego.
Attention whores.
HAHA.

The Combover.

AAh. The combover. What a fucking hair-do.
I do not understand this haircut at all. What is it? Is it hair or wig? Almost both.
More than that, I do not understand the person who wears a combover, or why.
If one is going bald, can they not accept that hair does not grow there? Why would one pull that wispy bit of hair from the other side of their head over that area to make it seem like hair is there?
The worst part is when you see a guy with a combover in the pool. With that wispy bit of shitty ass hair trailing along behind. Like swimming with yarn taped to your head. Or, alternately, like swimming with something dead stuck to it.
Face it. That wispy shit you pull over your immense bald spot looks worse than your head. Shave the whole thing so you look like a fucking man, or like. I have no words, what the fuck are you thinking when you comb over that shit?

Thinking About The Future (My apologies for the esotericism.)

I am troubled by the idea of music school. One side of me makes the intuitive choice; If one devotes their life to music enough to spend all that money and time to go and learn about music at a prestigious music college, how can they fail in the music business? Then, I think about it, and I know from experience; I would much rather play music than study it. Don't get me wrong, it certainly pays to know what you're talking about, musically, but there's only so much you need as far as practical and efficient application goes. (Now, I'm not talking about something like classical musicianship, or composing, etc. where the more you know, the better you can do-what I'm thinking about is pertinent to popular music, or rock music, or something of the genre.) See, if you go to college for music, you can certainly get a job in the music business. However, in no way does this in any way guarantee success. One might go into Berklee planning to be a touring, recording musician, record a demo, and find that they're stuck teaching the recorder to boogery 3rd graders for the rest of their life. There's nothing wrong with that, if that's okay with you, but sorry. It's definitely not what I want to do with my life.
Like, look. Going to music school is in no way a ticket to success in the music business. And that's what I think people don't get. There is no "right way." Nothing works every time. You look at a guy like Steve Vai who went to Berklee and he made it? 99% Luck. Cause I've listened to random no-name Berklee guitarists, and they're good, no question about it. But does what they play sound good? Will it make them sucessful? Not neccessarily. One Berklee grad who will remain unnamed recently handed me a CD of his music, and quite frankly, it sucks.

Bluntly put, music school won't nessecarily make you sound good, nor will anything else. It can, but its a $160,000 hit or miss.
See, I would much rather play music than study it. I only need to know so much. And I think if I just devoted all of my time to playing music, to writing music, to learning whatever I want to learn as it comes instead of learning in a curriculum, I could be much more productive, and thus successful.
A school is not particularly inspiring. I feel that to get raw and creative juices, it has to be the raw and unalthered you, not the you confined by rules.
Hey, I'll do whatever I have to. To be a musician is what I want most in the world.

The Current State of The Music Industry

I am discontent with the music industry.
Seemingly, the most successful individuals are the ones who package the most beauty (sometimes artificially,) into a package that writes cliche, even mediocre songs. Have you ever heard of a famous singer with an ugly name? Who's just ugly altogether? I don't think so. Look at these names.
Taylor Swift
Stevie Wonder
Jonas Brothers
James Taylor

There are no "Archibald Kauffmans" in pop music, unfortunately. Your name makes a big difference, as do your looks in this industry. Its a shame because I have no doubts that there are incredibly talented people out there who aren't successful because of something other than their music.

People amaze me. I wish I could know what I want with enough conviction to realize and accept my dreams. Stupid dreams.
Oh well. Acceptance.

Carpe Diem

Carpe Diem. Seize The Day.
I've been doing a lot of thinking about life lately, and I suppose I've come to a few conclusions.
First. Life is filled with people who won't make you happy. The key to happiness is to find the ones that do, spend as much time with them as you can, and do some good things along the way.
Be gracious and thankful. Be selfless. By making others as happy as you can, they will return the favor. Being happy, basically, is what it's all about. Being selfless and thankful for what you have will nurture content, and content will nurture happiness.
Be yourself. It will cause you much less stress in the end. You'll make friends based off of you being someone else, and when you want to finally be yourself, you still have to keep up that act of being someone else. So free yourself. If you are open from day one, a day will never come when you feel like you're acting.
Just, do whatever man. It's all good. Its not like I always feel like that, but its a good standard.

First Post on Cuddle Puddled.

Dear world, this is the first blog post on cuddle puddled.
I choose to share my thoughts, ideas, and basically any other random shit worth sharing with you on the basis that I have these things living in my brain, and I want to put them somewhere.
On love, on sadness, on loneliness, on happiness, on the beautiful and wonderful world on which we live.
Thank you.