2005 Paul Derochie probably wouldn't approve of how loose fitting my clothes are now. Or listening to Celtic Frost. But would of reading old livejournal entries. Or something.

I'm fucking 25.

Every moral and metaphysical lesson I learned this past 365 days can be highlighted in the following scene ( Read more... )

"Where's your Kid Rock man?"
"I don't have any..."
"Why not? You'd prolly do a helluva a lot better if ya did!"
"Probably not, this is Jazz Fest."

Because I believe more people are guided by the "how loud it's being said > what's being said" standard than would care to admit, most people tend to conflate the alcohol-informed courage of sharing any colorful or obscene impulse regardless of it's varying (usually high) degree of insipidness or frivolity with "genius", two mutually exclusive ( Read more... )

I tend to like less when I think more. I think I like drinking wine on humid nights, the sweet taste of condensation and the vinegar blood of fruit. I think I like riding my bike down the same streets, avoiding the same potholes or cracks and seeing the same people or mailboxes or burnt out streetlamps as if one were absent all would be. I think I ( Read more... )

I rode past a golf course yesterday and was delighted, while observing the patience of the privileged towards such frivolity, to learn that life was really this stupid.
Mine was no better and no worse.
I burned every flag I seen and went home smiling.

I found myself in fear.
In the fermenting sap of time.
In the cheap crystal of light.
I saw myself lost and not coming back.
"Abandon fear."

Man, I really used to be a jerk.

You know, I could really do without double LPs that have Sides 1 & 4 on one disc and 2 & 3 on the other.

Not to put too fine a point on it, but it's disheartening when you realize after your workplace nemesis has been fired, that you, in fact, wish he was still around because him being the figurative antithesis to you was the only thing that gave your eight hour work day any semblance of meaning.