156/365: Dreams Grow Dreams Grow Dreams Grow Dreams
I feel like I've been doing a lot of writing,
but it's all instrumental versions
with video overlay of pretty flowers and beaches
stolen from public Flickr photos.
I want to be the best thing that ever happened.
I want street cred.
I want a death bed quote everyone knows.
I want people I barely know
to point me out in black and white photos
and explain what it was like to know me twenty years ago.
I want to be cooler than Frank Black
when he sings "grope for luna" in Subbacultcha.
I want bookstores to stop selling my books
because they're always stolen.
It's okay to be a dreamer.
It's okay to want things we don't actively seek.
I'm also going to be a hermit in the woods,
and I'm going to be independently wealthy,
and I'm going to move to the east coast,
and I'm going to go barefoot for an entire year,
and I'm going to publish ten books of poetry,
and I'm going to establish myself as an artist,
and I'm going to have my own private island
with its own postage stamp,
and and and.
Dreams grow dreams grow dreams grow dreams.
I'm a put that on a t-shirt.