TripToPortland

 I  like the smell of rain, the way it pitters and patters against windsheilds and gutters. I like the way it slithers sneakily down the side of roads, trickling down into deep sours. The way it drops down from the edges of roof-tops onto the bumps of the concrete, and the blades of grass, then bursting into a little explosion as it hits.  I like the roar of city buses, gliding down the streets to the next destenation. I like the feeling of traveling, going to places you've never been. I like the idea of being anonymous with my art, and then leaving it for another passer-by to find. I like the idea of Perfection being non-existent. There's a lot rattling around in my mind, so much it could take billions of years to sort through it all. Though that'd never be possible, I prefer to keep a great deal of it locked up inside. Sometimes i forget that not everyone will agree with me. Sometimes I forget to be kind, passionate, sharing, caring, perfect this or that.  

                     Don't listen to just anything that you hear.  


       Sometimes,  

                                                                                                                You have to plug your ears, and get away from the words, and sounds.