So I'm going to be the fourth spots down the line for English June project presentations, which means I might actually be going tomorrow, which means I have to do it. The creative juices aren't flowing, because they don't fucking exist, so as always, this is troubling. For a quick twist of the creativity faucet, I've been listening to 'Sympathy for ( Read more... )

I love y'all so much.

My sister left me for her agent and Washington, DC. Apparently, her brother who unwillingly killed time in Macy's and H&M isn't good enough to smoke with. Apparently, you should tell all of your brothers that you'll meet them at five to hang out, and then call at 8, completely stoned, to say that you've ditched them and are cancelling. Apparently, ( Read more... )

My life is a tragic mistake. My mother told me so this morning, right when she beat the shit out of me instead of giving me breakfast. 'Want some toast? Tough luck, accident-child!' THWACK. Then she went back to fuck with her adulterous lover. I cried a lot and then I took out some razor blades and lay them on the sink, so I could stare at them for ( Read more... )

Heard my friend got the pistol from smack 'n' crystal ( Read more... )

I'm obsessed by Time Magazine.

I'm obsessed by that one friggin' line. What the hell is going on with the preposition use there? Is there actually any meaning behind it? One could make up some interesting bullshit.

I'm listening to Sad Sappy Sucker and reflecting on the days when I was still the only Modest Mouse fan in school, three whole years ( Read more... )

So. How are you all doing? Me, myself, I'm alright. As a more, I'm sitting here listening to Nick Cave's Murder Ballads and typing away at this prosthetic substitute society, because I'm dreadfully, dreadfully bored. 'It was back in '32 and times were hard, he had a Colt 45 and a deck of cards, Stagger Lee'. I've got work I should be doing but I'm ( Read more... )

Late on a Friday night, sitting in the Delancy Street-Essex Street Station, my new maroon Conversi planted in front of me on my Peavey practice amp and my iPod planted in my eardrums, I suddenly felt the massive ironic urge to vomit. It could've been because I realised how terribly, painfully clich-ay my existence was and is. More likely though, I ( Read more... )

My secret love affair with Thom Yorke has secretly, recently been rekindled. After all, I'm a rabbit in your headlights, Christian suburbanites. I'm taking tomorrow off. I don't feel like doing the work / lockdown bullshit tomorrow, so I'm going to relax in the park with my iPod, some cigarettes, and a couple of good books, and it will be good. God ( Read more... )

Today was a good day. Prepare yourself for a self-absorbed, recounting-one's-day post ( Read more... )