More on the origins of the blog title in a bit, but lately, I do feel as if my world is in the margin of something bigger than it. My thoughts and actions sometimes feel like scribbles, written with a 2H pencil that’s rapidly being worn away over time. I press harder, hoping to make an impression that pushes through to other pages, and it works, on some days. On other days, all I end up doing is breaking my pencil. There is a lot of lead left, though. Mainly because there’s no room for an eraser on the pencil of time.

Today’s track is by In Flames. It’s a bit more screamy than some of their other stuff (although the Reroute To Remain album was pretty screamy), but I really dig it. It has some very catchy guitar riffs. If you’re listening along, here’s the first stanza.

Buds abloom in all directions
from which events occur
relations and virused meetings
catch fire and explode
In the margin of butterfly wings
entire cycles of evolution
outplayed and faded
sparked away back into
vacuum-filled nirvana