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First off. Spoot's journal made me want to do this as well. I put me list on shuffle and post the first line of the first ten songs. You have to guess. If you use Google, ******** you.

1. "Got your rhymes goin' round in my head"
2. "Please show me the way to the next whiskey bar"
3. "You could see me reaching, so why couldn't you have met me halfway?"
4. "I can see what's happening, and they don't have a clue"
5. "With your feet in the air and your head in the ground"
6. "Aruba, Jamaca, Ooh I wanna take ya"
7. "I would never walk it through, I could never promise you"
8. "Better than newborn nebulas in bloom"
9. "You're keeping in step"
10. "That's some nice water!"

Here's the juicy faux-meat center of my journal entry for yalls. I started thinking about it whilst pacing the Northern Concord/ Martinez BART platform.

Being that the majority of my friends are loveless nubs, every once in a while I'll get asked about love and such other warm and fuzzy, many tentacled splenderous things. Had I been asked this a year ago, I wouldn't have been able to answer. You see, having been part of that asexual mass of androgony, I didn't feel love, I felt that it was stupid and unncessary for survival. Pssh. I were wrong. I didn't have a good example of what love could be like. I stumble down a path of other people's bad relationships, all branching away from the classic case of divorce by part of mon pere et ma mere. Everyone I associated with either wished to have no part of such mush for fear of getting thier shoes wet, was a crusty pile of rejection, or was frantically hanging on by thier last tendon in a bad relationship. For the most part, this still holds true. But being well educated in the studies of amore, moosh, and grippy pully snogging sessions, I believe I can come up with a decent answer for anyone who will listen. Well, in this case, read.
Love is a grand emotion that I wish I had let stab my heart with delicious pincers earlier. Love opens the eyes. You see things in a new light, you become a softer and somehow stronger being at the same time. Love is like chewing a dozen acid blotters and jumping off the highest thing you can find, only to have the comfort of not becoming a splattered pile of squish after a short cool period. Love is like being in a dunk tank full of acid, and having a smile cross your lips because there's no ******** chance that your lovey bear is going to throw that softball. Love is a safety net made of a pair of arms and lips that catch you every time you're about to fall. That is what love is.

Love is looking into Brooke's eyes.