we just had a motivational speaker motivate us. it was honestly pretty motivating. i feel motivated. motivation. he spoke and speaked a lot about character and not judging people. and he did magic tricks. it was nice. standing ovation nice. then a kid overdosed on ecstacy or something. apparently that stuff will dehydrate the shit out of you. he should have been drinking, probably. then i was in the bathroom and another kid came in crying. he was at the mirror, i stood next to him, washing my hands. i couldn't say anything. i think he was friends with mr. x. and now i don't feel motivated anymore.
today = play with (new) band. see you. love you.
william stafford is an amazing poet...
day after day up there beating my wings
with all the softness truth requires
I feel them shrug whenever I pause:
they class my voice among tentative things,
and they credit fact, force, battering.
I dance my way toward the family of knowing,
embracing stray error as a long-lost boy
and bringing him home with my fluttering.
every quick feather asserts a just claim;
it bites like a saw into white pine.
I communicate right; but explain to the dean--
well, Right has a long and intricate name.
and the saying of it is a lonely thing.
i love that. and the kid is still crying
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