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  • That's what Cowbird is to me.

    I'm hungover. So this is coming out in shards. Like piecing a broken bottle back together. Last night was exciting. My friend Rebecca and I didn't see the metal band and wound up at a young Hollywood-type party in Los Feliz. I met a producer. Then I met a kid who runs his own production company. He said the trick is to put people in a room who are smarter than you and let them figure it out.

    I think he was inviting me into that room and I am cool with his invite. I'm going to take him up on it.

    Oh and this other girl I drove there is going out with Michael Bay tonight, to the Oscars. Like you do.

    Either way, like I was saying, diaries.

    You are reading my diary right now. It's a tricky beast since I can edit it before you see it. I try to do little except make sure each entry is written coherently and has proper spacing/punctuation. If I catch mistakes I go back and fix them. Small things really. Stuff you'd barely notice.

    So that's it. Some of these vignettes come out like stories. Some are rants. Some are musings. Some are legitimate Cowbirds, the type Annie/Jonathan love. Some of these things are poems I might collect and publish. Who knows?

    So thanks for coming by. Walking around my brain. I swing through all kinds of moods. Sometimes kind souls like Lynn Fux reach out to me as if I am in need but I want to remind Lynn and company that I am doing okay! I'm grateful for the time here in LA to even sit down and write, have a minute to unfurl my thoughts, and create. I'd love recognition, some praise. I'd love to be loved. But right now I'm cool with just being able to create. To express.

    So yeah, welcome to my diary. It's all first or first-and-a-half drafts.

    If you want to read some of my actual work, though, I'd love to share it with you, too. For the most part I've kept this stuff private. A few stories have been published and a few have been available online. But the bulk of what I've done is sitting on my computer here and on the cloud and on some hard drives and a few zip drives.

    It's growing. These organic things. These perfected organisms. The re-re-re-re-re-rewrittenexaminedmuddledcutpasteddeleteddestroyedevictedre-re-re-writtenandabandoneds.

    And now I want to share these things I sowed, watered, nurtured, angered, cursed, hugged, leaned upon, scratched initials in, and in some cases stared at for long periods of time. One time I tended so diligently that I started talking to myself. I try to avoid that. But sometimes it happens when the Creative force opens your mouth and crawls out like a god, maybe Saturn, and squeezes out between your teeth and stands before you and holds you spellbound with a gaze and says, Speak now, speak now, mortal and you can really only say okay if a god with huge muscles and an asexual David Bowie quality says, Speak now. Since how can you argue with a god wearing a studded war skirt who crawled out from your mouth, right?

    So yeah, send me an email. If you're still reading this diary, after all the meteors that have fired from my brain, then maybe it's time to look at the lakes and planets that have happened there too.

    Talk soon.

    - Daniel
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