before :: after

so if i can't walk off weight, or not-eat it away, and i refuse to make friends with it, what's left?

i spend my rides to and from work listening to the same six-or-so songs on my third-eye blind cd, because, even though most of the lyrics are about sex, drugs, depression, or other mental problems and general states of fucked-up-lifeness, they're so well written.

and that doesn't happen too often these days.

is it the content that matters, or is it the craft? i'm a stickler for pretty sentences but i don't think i have a favorite subject matter anymore.