Here I sit, in my old bedroom. They say it's still mine, but there's a baby's bed in the corner, along with Rummikub and the 50th anniversary version of Clue, both games I've never played in my entire life. Foreign furniture, glasses and plants have been put away in here for storage, and I can't seem to get Mum (the band) out of my head. The only thing really truly mine left in here, mine that I care about left in here, is the wall color (yellow) and a scrawling from many years back;
Rest in Peace
Justin Michael Cameron
"AEAEAE"
4/7/89-7/22/03
#686-5758
I remember you still.

Yes, the only things that belong to me.
I've really been quite the quiet fish out of water, struggling to breathe but squirming as little as possible. What can I say? What can I say? I don't give a shit about AC/DC, thank you. A crime that I don't listen to Frank Zappa? Maybe.
But to care about Led Zeppelin? Man, I don't give a fuck.

The main downfall about being young is to always be doubted. These new hip bands, they're hip and new, these new hip new hips singing songs about being hip and new skinned and a bottle of wine and whiskey down-the-hatch, these new hips, come here, but these new hip bands? No sir, they're completely stupid of course. I give them no time for listening. I pass judgement of what was radical in my heyday, but I can't accept that you, fresh young and stupid, are actually in some history I should care about.

And this is the main concern that I have with my newfound relationship based on the bed stand. Against my character, too afraid to give an opinion on things I've never heard or seen, because things I've heard and seen aren't of importance. This is how I feel, however untrue it is.

Some red weed, I am. No fox, no sir, no I cannot produce to you evidence of a soul.
No, I can only sing and dance in my loud alone.

Oh predicaments. These things, long drawn written out are really of a smaller proportion. But these things are some kind of leech, sucking out my brain, or stoppering it, so I can't speak, and I can't create, and I can't imagine, and I can't imagine not drawing, and I'm not drawing, and my dad suggested the military, and I can't imagine not drawing.

So I am some husk. Some red weed.

So I will think and escape through a book and not not not drink on a saturday night.