Seven years after its release, I finally spent the $35 and got Brandon Boyd's book, White Fluffy Clouds. I remember wanting it badly when I was so into Incubus back in the day. (They are still my happy place.)
It came in the mail today and took me about 20 minutes to look through. It makes me wish that I were creative in some conventional or unconventional way. My mind is so boring and immature compared to his. Granted, he's into crazy shit like outer space and other worlds. Not only is he super creative and into crazy shit, but he has the skills and talents to be able to create something out of it. I have none of these things. So all I can do is (poorly) write a blog entry about other people's creativity. At least I can appreciate it.
A gentleman with an accent came up to the advising desk yesterday morning at Heartland. I quietly and cordially asked him if I could ask where he was from and he said England. And then I asked if I could ask where at in England and he said Liverpool. And I told him that I was there over the summer, in Cambridge, doing an internship. He had no interest in my story and I was bummed. I really wanted to talk England with him and ask him why he was here, of all places, but he just wasn't having it. :(
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