Somewhere between right and wrong, good and bad, weak and strong, a temperature of balance has led me astray. It is a sacrifice, but a choice. Some days it seems it is the only option available. I want, but I don’t. There is a compulsion in me that is obsessive. The tendency to fraternize, then analyze with the possibility to equalize, only to generalize. A code, like Morris, but it is the only way I know how to vocalize the under mindedness of my philosophy to life. I want nothing more than to be all I am meant to be, real, not compromising an ounce of the authorities given to me. To dream, to scream, to love to share, will there be a time, one day, in which I will be given the freedom to go beyond the apparent?
There is something extremely sentimental, yet a little peculiar, going back into the past. It may have been a time of great essence, or a time of immense pain, however, we stand remaining, obtaining and waiting to pertain a glimpse of hope and to try to make sense of the greater image of who we are this very moment. Our reflections pierce back at us, with blemishes and cover up. We can cover up the blemishes, but the blemishes can’t cover up the cover up. My friend had given me this album when it first came out. I would listen to it over and over again. Running, walking, or studying. A nineteen year old dreamer and concerner. A concerner, if that even be a word, but I was. For the future, for the present and for the mistakes of the past. Thanks Lindsey for this album. It shaped me, as well as challenged me and tonight, it returns with a whole new sense of principle.