I've finally realized something.

All the while, I looked for someone whose lyrics touched me as much as Blake Schwartzenbach's. And all the while he was right under my nose: John K. Samson.

What an amazing lyricist.

Fuck whoever left the God damned station and locked it so I couldn't get in and couldn't broadcast my fucking radio show. Douchebags.

As much as this won't mean to you, I seriously hope that I didn't ruin your evening. Not that I'd ever tell you that. Or talk to you for the next two weeks.

Fuck you. I've done nothing wrong.

Damn. The Gainsville punk scene is so fucking good. SO FUCKING GOOD. Sometimes, I just want to move down there. Yeah.

You'll be the first to judge, the first to cast doubt,
The first to point fingers and the first to bail out.
King of the drama circus. Craving the spotlight.
Bottom feeding off our efforts. Fucking parasite!

So don't talk until you take a walk in my Chucks.
What the fuck? I guess you're shit out of luck.

Well, at least at this point I know that I am alive.

Let's live existentially. Revel in our pain.

It's not something I would recommend, but it is one way to live.
What's so easy in the moonlight by the morning never is.

Why can't you just take a fucking chance on me, just once? I hate you for giving up before it even has a chance to begin.

Oh Sarah, thank you for the simple nudge towards getting me to update this little fucker again ( Read more... )