I’ve had some writers block lately and it’s proving detrimental to my musical exploits. I can’t live up to Thin Lizzy and I sing too high for Waylon Jennings. I don’t need a cupcake party, I just dont want to think about her ever again. Other girls don’t kiss like her, they don’t fight like her and they definitely don’t bring out the violent side in me (good or bad? you decide; my half-broken fingers say good). If absolutely nothing else we had passion. It was the fucked up kind of passion you get when you cross tequila with any person with any sense whatsoever. It borders on the kind of passion that burnt down Andre Rison’s house and got John Bobbit’s cock cut off. It’s the kind of passion that could melt the polar ice caps and laugh at everyone gasping and reaching for one last breath. Fucked up. I’m ready for san francisco so much more than I could ever say with words. I just want to be as far away from here/you/them/everyone(except my dog) for a while. I’ve been watching these scary/sad/fucked up documentaries lately because I get duped into things. Said videos have made me an emotional clusterfuck, I get teary eyed over nothing and just thoughts of things that suck make me a little more sad (i.e. child soldiers, AIDs epidemic in africa, kids playing baseball with their dads). This chapter is coming to a close, I feel like there will be a baptism of sorts in the not so distant future and I’ll be over all this and selling everything I own will be a viable option.
Archive for March, 2009
Falling down.
I’ve been a piss poor adult. I fall apart too easily. It’s going to take more than a bottle to make me forget the last three or so years of my life. I’m researching schools in the Austin, TX area. I might look into SF too, we’ll see. In all liklihood, I will stay here because I’m a glutton for punishment. Do another 6 to 8 semesters here just to make me hate my life a little bit more. It’s not nearly as bad as I make it sound. I’m too dramatic. I’m too lonely. I’m too everything. I’m so pissy lately I don’t even want to drink. I can’t be bothered to drown myself in the better part of a half gallon of vodka or a suicide of beers in the small fridge, I’m busy moping. 3 years ago I’d have killed most of it in a night, shat on something and passed out. Maybe that’s mturity kicking in, maybe maturity is a psuedonym for the decreasing resilience of the human body. I have one Makers on the rocks and my body tells me “no more big fella.” maybe all that drinking is catching up to me? entire bottles of bourbon in one night a couple nights a week for a few months… it stands to reason that your body would eventually not take too kindly to it. Who knows. I’m going to bed.
Ten Mile Grace
I’ve felt lost a lot lately. Momentary instances of a legitimate lost feeling. Voices I used to love turn my stomach in ways I cannot even explain. Summer can’t come soon enough as far as I’m concerned. My school’s been suffering because I find myself caring less about things than I once did. I think I started school when I did more out of a percieved need to meet a certain standard than a legitimate need or want. I don’t regret it whatsoever but I also don’t know what that means in the long run either.
On a brighter note San Francisco will be calling my name in the not so distant future and that makes me more happy than I can even explain with words. I’m gonna miss my one eared dog but I think he’ll get along without me for a couple weeks (in the care of my mother). My band schedule is pretty full til then so that helps keep my mind from wandering too far. I’m especially pumped on record stores and the idea of being out of the midwest. I have a love hate relationship with Joplin but I generally just hate the Midwest.
