Elliot Smith

"I met a man with one leg, named Smith."

"Oh really? What was the name of his other leg?"

Do people tell jokes like this anymore? I mean, they're so great.

I've been listening to Elliot Smith a lot lately ... like, really listening to the composition, strumming, lyrics, voice tone, guitar. I thought that I wanted to be a guitar player ... but it's sitting in a corner, along with the skateboard deck someone gave me. I sometimes think that all people really want is to love and be loved, and that all writing-art-making-music is really just a wish. A wish that someone will say, "This is amazing. And I love you."

So, yeah, Elliot Smith. He killed himself. He made all this really incredible music and he's dead. Dead. Well, we all die, right? Yeah, I guess.

Also, re-reading some older planned 'zine projects. Thinking I should just publish the dang thing. Once and for all. One criticism of my writing is that it isn't fleshed out enough, which may be why blogging appeals to me. I don't have to flesh out any-thang! I can just write about flesh and call it a day!

There was a Benicia / Vallejo band called the Fleshies. I think they're still around. Unless, of course, they've all found love. Or one of them committed suicide.