One of these mornings
you're gonna rise, rise up singing,
you're gonna spread your wings,
child, and take, take to the sky,
lord, the sky.

( Read more... )

Was kicked out of the Falcon Trace home, stayed with a girl who doesn't dig the way I dig for a bit in Deerfield or wherever the party ended some nights until she could no longer stand to be near me. Renting a tiny, grimy room now for nothing. I am told that I am only the second person in five years to clean the bathroom and believe it. Dreams ( Read more... )

Set my hand on fire and obtained a second degree burn or two, tore open burn wounds building an epic fire, hopped over a chair wrong maybe and fell hard definitely, flipped off a bicycle racing into a trashcan while making a sharp turn in Thorton Park, fell somehow again off of a bicycle traveling at some odd turtle-like pace. Bruised everything, ( Read more... )

I am capable of creating a model of the world yet still hardly capable of dealing with it effectively according to my objectives, plans, ends and desires. It suits me well. I am no doer; I am simply an observer. My head is off, I am wrong, such thoughts are profane. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Too much time agonising my 5-HT2A, not enough time spent with ( Read more... )

Woke up this morning with a catheter inserted into my penis, tried pulling it out but was stopped my some large woman, went back to sleep. Woke up, catheter is gone, got out of bed, observed several police officers struggling with a man, shouted "He thinks your mom is a whore" and was given a dirty look by one police officer and was escorted back ( Read more... )

The back of an ambulance on 24 mg 2C-B.

Keeping bees now, nine to five still, tired of walking - this town is ill suited for it, I miss junk, my mattress is too small, my room is such a mess, I cannot remember the last time I was in a large group of people and happy, I have no girl on my arm, no boys by my side, no hair in my face - only a small patch of hair on my face, no food in my ( Read more... )

Pas de drogues, pas d'alcool, pas de soucis ( Read more... )

It is odd that for periods of time I find it difficult to determine whether anything happening one day is different from anything happening the next. The more obvious constants: my mechanistic, impersonal handling of Johnny Rockets, the shallow hatred I feel for myself upon entering Stella, the lack of junk, the lack of love, where I lay my head ( Read more... )