Winter certainly is not

Drinking cheap mexican beer with a lime, grilling. It can not be wearing a bathing suite, showing off my pasty body in the sun on a beach. And there is NO FUCKING WAY winter is me playing guitar with all the windows open and Lauren napping.

The reverb on my amp is noisy. So I can not use it. I have been playing my guitar some, almost once a day. Though sometimes its nothing more than strumming the same chord over and over. I guess that makes me happy though. I don't know if I could ever record something. I don't know if i care. I could maybe record music that was simple, and possibly pretty. I just don't know. I can't find a band down here. I don't know if I would want to if I could.

I still would like to own a real expensive acoustic guitar though. Not sure why. It has something to capitalism to be sure.

a small, brief, off the cuff poem, ahem:

I learned yesterday that the red leaved trees that line my drive,
from interstate 10 all the way down to St. James Parish,
are called Red Swamp Maple trees:
Acer Rubrum.


Dotted every 40 yards are so, between dark green cypress