Sometimes the songs that we hear are just songs of our own

dang, im on a roll! hahaha, ive actually put SOMETHING down, be it odd or disjointed or completely lame, much more often lately. thats good. 9 times out of 10 i really have nothing to write about, but i have this overwhelming desire to keep my carple tunnel(?) in action, so i continue typing...i still keep a notebook though. you know how funny it is to look back at some of my notebooks over the years? hi-larious! mostly because they are a bevy of unfinished thoughts, lists of nothing, doodles and scribbles, and a lot of letters. a LOT of letters. all of them unsent. i wonder what would happen if i went through say, the last 2 years ONLY the last 2 years of notebooks and sent out all the letters ive written? "Never reaching the end,letters I've written,Never meaning to send." i think it would be hysterical. some of you would get the strangest ramblings....for example, i know of AT LEAST 2 letters ive written to grant. one about me being sad that he was moving to slc but totally happy for him at the same time, and one that i apparently wrote while high on something addressed to jesus....its a long story but at one point i was determined to find the address to heaven and i asked grant, who didnt know either but made for some hilarious conversations..........there are letters upon letters upon letters to mike lander....some never finished...MOST never finished....some about the fact that if i didnt leave at that exact moment, i was going to become the person i tried to hard not to be in my youth...some about how that decision was the wrong one, some about forgiving him for all of his infidelities, and some about forgiving myself for putting up with said affairs......plenty and i do mean PLENTY of lists of gratitude....some stuff for the worm.....and this is just the passed 2 years....i cant imagine going back further....why do i keep this stuff? if im not going to send these letters, and im not going to publish any of the crackpot, bipolar craziness scribbled in the margins, why do i hang on to them? do i garner some odd pleasure from knowing they are there? do i attatch to things like one of those old ladies who has too many cats for the simple sake of proving my existence, or that i ONCE did exist? who knows??? i know that code keeps all of his video game football stats in notebooks...thats odd....but what makes it any more strange than my ridiculous ramblings shoved inside a giant tupperware box? to him im sure its the same thing...parts of himself, parts of his disorders that MUST be documented!!! for one reason or another though, i think we all have a bit of pack rat in us....the question remains however; why? id like to do some sort of psychological study on the nature of it all...i mean, why do some of us harbor EVERYTHING and some of us are able to get rid of things much much much more easily and quickly? this is from wikipedia----- It is not clear whether compulsive hoarding is a condition in itself, or simply a symptom of other related conditions. Several studies have reported a correlation between hoarding and the presence and/or severity of obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD). Hoarding behaviour is also related to obsessive-compulsive personality disorder (OCPD). Hoarding rubbish may be referred to as syllogomania or disposophobia.-------is keeping notebooks of thoughts really compulsive hoarding though? i mean, i dont keep other things, really...well, not to the same extreme....i may have a touch of this though---Bibliomania is an obsessive-compulsive disorder involving the collecting or hoarding of books to the point where social relations or health are damaged. One of several psychological disorders associated with books, bibliomania is characterized by the collecting of books which have no use to the collector nor any great intrinsic value to a genuine book collector. The purchase of multiple copies of the same book and edition and the accumulation of books beyond possible capacity of use or enjoyment are frequent symptoms of bibliomania.--------hahaah, but that is a subject for another blog....im going to go right now and send some letters.....watch your mailbox.

♥

eyes of the world---the grateful dead (this song has been in my head all day)

Right outside this lazy summer home
You aint got time to call your soul a critic no.
Right outside the lazy gate of winters summer home,
Wondrin where the nut-thatch winters,
Wings a mile long just carried the bird away.

Wake up to find out that you are the eyes of the world,
The heart has its beaches, its homeland and thoughts of its own.
Wake now, discover that you are the song that the mornin brings,
But the heart has its seasons, its evenins and songs of its own.

There comes a redeemer, and he slowly too fades away,
And there follows his wagon behind him thats loaded with clay.
And the seeds that were silent all burst into bloom, and decay,
And night comes so quiet, its close on the heels of the day.

Wake up to find out that you are the eyes of the world,
The heart has its beaches, its homeland and thoughts of its own.
Wake now, discover that you are the song that the mornin brings,
But the heart has its seasons, its evenins and songs of its own.

Sometimes we live no particular way but our own,
And sometimes we visit your country and live in your home,
Sometimes we ride on your horses, sometimes we walk alone,
Sometimes the songs that we hear are just songs of our own.

Wake up to find out that you are the eyes of the world,
The heart has its beaches, its homeland and thoughts of its own.
Wake now, discover that you are the song that the mornin brings,
But the heart has its seasons, its evenins and songs of its own.