I can attest to having all sorts of stupid ideas while out running. Pushing another 2 miles, writing to old girlfriends, starting a yakisoba stand on a beach in Thailand, this video...
Blame the lapse in judgment on mind-numbing endorphins and blaring music.
Muted lives still scream: across lines of paper, and through airwaves. Always by way of some latent trigger, it happens quickly--like drunken vomit, but with ink; you can't control when, or where. Oblivious to the world, it just starts flying, and doesn't stop until the pen runs dry. Or until they pump your stomach.
Very special thanks to Ms. Tamesada for taking time out to offer a skilled camera hand, for enduring my creepy-ass neighbors, and for pretending to almost knock on my door during the piano bridge.
Cause my path has lost direction...somehow..."
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