How many voices are there?

Sure he's had a couple drinks, but just look at his eyes... They're truthful. You know he will never tell you a lie. But is that the salesman inside of himself? Yes quite perhaps, his eyes are made to drill into your head. But you know how he feels about you don't you? Well perhaps, maybe, I really don't know anymore. I don't blame you, he can't tell either, and it’s been quite surprisingly hard on him. I mean, look at his eyes, do those look like eyes that sleep well? Are you saying he traveled 1500 miles to sleep restlessly? No, not just for that, but to get a new start. The restlessness at night is just a cruel side effect of leaving everything in another state. Does he seem like he has before? I really can't tell, he's a new person, he could be close to death over this situation and he'd still smile, he really has no fears. Isn't that dangerous? Well, yes but he doesn't care. I think he's ready for death. If he were to die right now he could go only feeling bad for the people he left behind. But isn't that just wrong to want to die? Well, he doesn't want to die, he just could tolerate it right now, and while he's alive he wants to live like he is alive. But he isn't living like that right now. True, but he wants to, he wants to be truly happy all the time, not just a facade that he puts on whenever he needs to deal with people. Well that seems like a kind of crumby situation. It is, but he manages, in a short while he will truly settle in and things should go smoothly until he wants to mess shit up again. That really does sound like him, can't be content with anything, for contentment is acceptance, and acceptance means you've given up. Maybe that is true, but I think he's really only looking for a place that he can tolerate for more than a short period of time. Damn he tastes of beer, I'll never get used to that. No worries, it's better then the rum he will burp up for hours on end. True, but he never drank before. Like I said, he's a completely different person now he does everything differently. He lives, he loves, and he sleeps, all differently. Did you notice his stomach has gotten so much smaller? He really is different, but not so much, he still has the same outlets, he still hates being alone. True, but those are things he uses for comfort, or at least things he uses to seek comfort. What about her? Like I was saying before, he's confused about her. He’ll be glad if he so much as talks to her. Is it really that bad between them? Well it's not bad, just confusing. Bitter sweet to say. He craves her but doesn't know if that's what he wants anymore. Confusing isn't it? It's only because he can't read her. But what's that to matter? If it will work it won't matter. Yes, but he is just afraid. He may not have any true fears, but this, girls, they make him squirm. It's sad really. He's getting tired; let us go narrate his dreams.

What happens to be on my head.

I am lonely. I admit this only because this is me right now. I know it's rather stupid for me to feel so down because of something to trivial, but I do. I think it might be of the memories I have of being with someone. No, not the cuddles and the kisses, but don't get me wrong those are nice. I'm talking about just how much nicer the air is, how much greener the grass is. I don't even necessarily want to be "with" someone, although that would be nice. I just want people who I can sit around with and just know that they're cool and they're there for me.

I like to cook. The only problem I have with cooking is figuring out what to cook. If someone puts down all the ingredients in front of me and says "Make this." I'll have no problem at all; in fact I'll enjoy it. But when it comes to me making something myself I always get stuck, never really know where to start. Half the time when I make anything though people always like it. It's really rather scary.

I just hit keys randomly sometimes when I'm typing and words that I don't even know why I'm typing them come out. It's kinda strange especially since they are real words they just haven’t gone through my head when I actually type them. Sometime I want to type without thinking at all and see what I end up writing. Knowing my head it should be semi-entertaining.

I hope you too feel like this

Swirls of color around the plane of vision, twisting and spinning in ways that one might not think possible. Greens, blues and purples, all transform into warmer colors and then back again while touching just on the edge of colors one could not comprehend. The colors travel through the air like sound, with every shift another hum or click. The yellows whining at a painfully high pitch while the deeps blues are the purest form of bass one could expect. Filled with the beautifully orchestrated sounds of the rainbow.

The Way We Live

Pieces of trash fall from the sky, fluttering like fluffy snowflakes caught in the current of a passing car. The refuse stacks up slowly, in the corners at first but after a few short minutes the entire in between is filled. Cigarette butts, old newspapers, soda cans, and condom wrappers are all accountable for the piles, none of it much use as of right now. Every one has it's story, stories of passing strangers and better going-ons. None of them quite expected to pile up next to some young couples passionate love. None of them expecting to be so tossed aside.

The music is what made it.

Please just lay next to me and be there for more then 22 minutes.
Please just let me be close to you and let me care about you.
Please just know what I mean.
Please just stare at the stars in a perfect silence with me.
Please just know who you are and know who I am.
Please just give me five minutes worth of a chance.
Please just understand why I need this.
Please just let me cry while I listen to this magnificence.

I felt like writing for a 4 year old

There once was a boy, he lived in a place that was full of very big people. He was constantly lonely for none of the big people ever took notice of him. They all went along with their daily lives and more often then not walked right over boy without taking any notice to him. The boy didn't like it in the least and on several occasions he would end up crying himself to sleep.

One noteworthy day, when the clouds split the sky in half, the boy met a small girl, she was a lot like him, in the fact that the very big people gave little notice to her either. The boy was so happy to meet this small girl, he finally had someone he could relate to. Every day the boy and the small girl would talk, and entertain each other with tales of their lives. They were happy.

A long time passed like this and the boy thought of the small girl as the most amazing person he had ever met. The only problem was that over the time the boy had known the small girl she had grown bigger. In fact now she was not a small girl at all, but much rather a few inches taller then the boy. This made the boy very sad and he talked to the girl about it. All the girl had to say was that it was time for her to grow, and that she needed to be a bigger person to accomplish certain things. This made the boy cry, because he wanted to stay the same size forever.

I try to live.

There is nothing, not a word, not a sight, not even a smell. Why not? It doesn't matter because we're all just little specks of dust waiting to be inhaled into a giant kangaroos nostrils where we will then embark on the most entertaining few minutes of our life.

Think of the kangaroos sneeze like the big bang, only bigger.

Fuck... why do you even read all this bullshit? Seriously? half the time it's something massively incomprehensible, and the other half of the time it's me complaining about my friggin lack of love in a twisted and covert manner purely to disguise it from the reader who it is about. Either way do you gain anything from reading this?

Okay you can say you get to know the true Logan better, the one that doesn't give a shit about half of everything, but do you really? Is any of this randomness even a half open window into my persona? Can my random ranting and typing actually be me? I don't even know what I write about, I just type and let the words come to me, inserting fancy verbs here and there to make me sound half intelligent.

I'm not the same person I was 3 years ago, I don't say "'ey". I say "Howdy" I don't grunt, I mumble. I don't give a damn anymore, I try to live.

A Knock to the Head

Whenever I get hit in the head I really hope that I'll get some sense knocked into me. And thinking of the last two time I did hit my head I'm not sure if it's the correct thing to be looking for.

The first of the two was at the rugby game. It was maybe three minutes into the game, at most five, but I should have been fresh either way, although a nasty blow to my upper thigh massively slowed me down. Anyways, back to the point, lets say four minutes into the game. The El Paso team has the ball. Their outside center is carrying, running down the sidelines with his wing in a miserable spot for anything else to happen. Perfect set up for the tackle, and sure enough. BAMF! There I am getting up off the ground, all I can do is clench my teeth and try to recover my balance to the left. I can tel I was hit on the left side of my face purely because I can't control where that eye was looking, at one point I see the ground and the next I see the sideline while I'm trying to follow the ball. I was hit hard and I could feel it, but like I said, I was looking for the sense it might have driven into my thick skull.

Sure there may have been something that got in there, but honestly it just made me think, and then the fact that I couldn't just made me frustrated. I couldn't think straight at all, but how much of it was from the hit? How much of it was the events from the night/morning before? I don't know, but I knew that I was playing as hard as I was because I told people I would, more specifically one person. I also know that that hit to the head made me alot more serious about that one person then I should have been at that point, but whatever kept me going, right?

The second hit was later that night, I had more then one drink under my belt at that point and in all my grace as I sat down next to Madam V I squarely nailed my head to the wall. Did I learn a lesson? More then likely not, but at the same time I might have. If thinking didn't hurt as much as it did I'd give you a straight answer.

I won't hide it, this is about you.

The thump of the fan was constant, like the beat of some techno remix on crack. It drilled into his head as he lay there staring at the shapes on his ceiling, much as if he were staring at a formation of cloud. with each revolution came a new thought, far to many to sort all at once, but a portion of it all could be held, a familiar face here, a rainbow there, perhaps a wonderful feeling just on the brink of his touch. Each thought in itself was perfect calm, but in the rapid succession it was grating to say the least. As one comfort came it was quickly ripped away from him just to be replaced by something else. The replacement was not always worse and more often then not it was better, the thing that he could not stand was the change. Slowly the fan started to slow down. Whether or not it actually was, or his mind was just slowing it down for him did not matter, each and every thought suddenly became a memory of a dream.

The sun was barely coming in the window, but he could still see her face as perfectly as ever. It was beautiful, the softness of it, the little freckles that lightly dotted the ridges of her cheeks. It was the definition of calm to look at in her sleeping state. He knew he should sleep too, and just let the utter comfort he felt being next to her take over. Then suddenly she opened her eyes looking straight at him as if even in her dreams she had been looking into his eyes. No words were passed, none needed to be, both were content and happy, and it showed by the smiles on each of their faces...

There he lay, not staring at the ceiling this time but much rather the stars. It was nice to look at the stars, on several occasions before this moment the lack of stars had quite literally depressed him. There was always something about looking to the heavens that calmed him, whether it be the eternal mystery or the hope of new horizons he wouldn't be able to tell you, that is of course was if he even cared much about that. One of the most intriguing aspects to the stars he thought was that someone, somewhere else is looking at exactly the same piece of sky. It is a beauty you can share with absolutely zero prejudice. It is perfection...

It was dark outside but it didn't matter, the steady hum of the engine would continue no matter then time. It was comforting in some way. Like an old friend holding your hand, or someone you care about talking to you on the phone. It just felt right. It was his old beater of a truck, but it was more then a truck, it was a friend. And why not? The cowboys of an earlier time had made best friends out of their steads why could that relationship not be modernized? Feeling the wheel in his fingers, and the green glow of the stereo on his face just made him feel at home. It didn't matter where he was, because he was in fact home...