Champaign is also no stranger to transparency. Clearly, these folks sat down and thought, who the fuck doesn't love champaign?** And, by that rationale, who wouldn't love a band named after a benign alcoholic beverage served at even the most milquetoast breakfast gatherings?
Every time I read anything I'm guilty of immediate analysis of the writer's intention, and not even consciously at this point, but in most great shit, these intentions are complex and highly subject to debate. And that makes literary analysis, and the possibility of discussing that analysis, so exciting for me I could dance in a circle.
Today, I am run ragged. I sit down to write, feel that familiar throat knot, but am somehow less inhibited in exhaustion. Maybe I should exhaust myself more often. Along with being wet, being tired is one of my top most intolerable feelings, but today, between taking re-taking bad camera phone pictures of black wool coats, I realized the only solution is plowing through anyways.
I'm working on deadlines here. Hiatus from my brain. I need to write something I'm proud of again. I will write something I'm proud of again. I just have to sit and write embarrassing things and not be afraid.
*ha! I'm calling the band member(s?) of Vertical Horizon artists. I need to go to either go to sleep or be a total blogger hypocrite and do the deed for goodness' sake. I've always wondered whether goodness is, in this case, a singular or plural possessive. Good thing I'm not ninety and will therefore use this word sparingly for the next several decades.
**I don't really love champaign.