"Hey, they found that girl."
"I didn't know she was missing."
"Yep, she was missing all right."
"Where was she?"
"I already told you. She was missing."

I'm eating Bugles for the first time in years. I'm beginning to realize why.

I just realized that the "Up With People III" album that I have on my desk at work has lyrics on the sleeve. Every day I shall post a new and equally uplifing song. Beginning, of course, with the song they are best known for which is titled (appropriately enough):
Up With People
It happened just this morning,
I was walking down the street,
A milkman and a postman
And policeman I did meet.
There in every window,
At ev'ry single door,
I recognized people
I'd never recognized before.
Up! up with people!
You meet 'em wherever you go!
Up! up with people!
They're the best kind of folks we know.
If more people were for people,
All people ev'rywhere,
There'd be a lot less people to worry about,
And a lot more people who care!
(repeat last two lines)
People from the southland
And people from the north,
like a mighty army
I saw them coming forth.
'Twas a great reunion,
Befitting of a king!
Then I realized people
Are more important than things,
Up! up with people!...etc.
Inside ev'rybody
There's some bad and some good
But don't let anybody
Start attacking people-hood
Love them as they are,
But fight for them to be,
Great men and great women,
As Jeebus* meant them to be,
Up! Up with people!...etc.
(repeat chorus)

*diety changed to more accurately reflect the beliefs of Homer Simpson.

Ok, the song seems to have a positive (if a bit smarmy) message. That is, if one can overlook the songwriter's seemingly omnipresent existential struggle and fundamentalist apocalypic undertones. Plus ev'ry is not an actual contraction, much like people-hood is not an actual word. And I was quite suprised at the blatant advocation of cocaine usage mid-song (repeat 2 lines)....I'm curious as to where the rest of the album will take us.

Here's hoping the MJQ 10th Anniversary Party tonight will be something like this: Scarf Party 2004!

Yeah I know. You're thinking to yourself, how can MJQ be celebrating a 10th anniversary when earlier this year they celebrated their 6th anniversary. A little secret: in the underground club realm, time is not only governed by the laws of physics, but also by whiskey and amphetamines. (and curls) In other words: don't question it.

"Love Me Like A Rock." What does that even mean, for jeebus's sake? And why doesn't he want mama to take his kodachrome? Paul Simon is like a mystery wrapped in a folk song wrapped in a giant mess of Garfunkle hair.

Blog of note!
"Girls Are Pretty"
You'll laugh, cry and slap yourself around a little bit.

Oh, and I almost forgot the most important part, the part about us putting all the oversized things in the same corner. I think that came somewhere between the roof and the floor.

I think I've listened to almost six hours of Modest Mouse today. I wonder how that will affect the rest of my evening?

I just ate one of those sugar cookies with a cherry in the middle.
Yep, like they used to serve me in the grammar school lunchroom.
It was vaguely reassuring.

I've felt more visual today, so I worked on uploading some clips.
Check it: People Doing Nothing at 107.

More to come, as there is lots of doing nothing there.

I should have left hours ago, never should have came really. And I don't know why I was crying well yes just don't know in so many words. Maybe I would never let go, tell everyone I found someone to die with. Suicide pact write it line after line. Any day now.

Fucking fatalist.

It feels like a panda crapped a rainbow in my brain and then rolled over the rainbow.
"Wait, am I smoking an unlit cigarette?"
"Yeah you are."
"This same unlit cigarette I've been smoking for ten minutes?"
"Same one."
(pause)
"God, this bathroom floor actually feels really good."
"Let's not speak of this to anyone ever, ok?"
"Ok."

On resumes...
"My skills would read: spinning records, 'that guy' always present in people's hallucinogenic trips."

I'm loving the "dance party" battle going on over on friendster. Here's a sample of what's going on from my friend jamal. (The funniest thing is that both sides say they "don't care.")

so awww, where to start . lettme start with this is jamal
and this has nuttin to do with dylan my dj partner and
friend. also lettme say i was at the 1st few kiss dance
parties at the echo and they were cool. also i do like
preston and think he is a desent dj however, he is an
habitual line stepper, and some1 has got to check him.
enter, ME, im here to check him.
1st kiss is a clone, dance parties have been around
forever it is a direct clone of wenseday at MJQ. respect
it. your not super unique. 2nd know your place, yea i
maybe the guy who plays way to much 80's but i know
that. your a guy that made a wenseday, and a saturday
night on a friday, do you want a cookie or something, i
pretty sure no one cares. and please for love of all that
is good give up this "im gonna educate the kids on
good music," let the babies have there bottles. there is
no music elite in atlanta if there are they hang at the
earl not the masquerade. a dj is the servant of the
people they let people chill and relax and god knows
complain. people wanna chill not to be browbeat.
people make the party not one person, well people and
drinks (proof being people still going to lenny's on
friday no matter what). even when you wrote your little
bullentin did you think about it. did you ever say to
yourself; self:"i sound totally condesending and
annoying and not cool"
and now let's just get it all out there. being a rock dj in
atl use to be about a few free drinks doing a few girls
and getting a bump or two in the crapper. and then you
came and became this relentless, territorial, die and let
die, not a good time. have some fun it's not that serious.
are you really that crazy. your like hatetron 3000, some
people fear some people admire i just "dont give 2 left
testicles"-quote from popular 1992 rollerblading movie
airbonre-
and then your set list like comeon... international noise
conspiracy, stellarstar, longwave, like do you hate
eardrums or have all the gwinnett haircore kids kidnap
and brainwash you. anyways this week this is what im
gonna play,is... whatever you want, total request if i got
it and it aint the BNL or DMB i'll give it a spin go where
you want. i don't care. i've been on this scene for so
long im a fossil. im the grumpy old dude that has had
more then enough just call me dj. tibbs. this week at
lenny's the drink's are the same price and still cheap,
there is a great band called xiu xiu playing. its free from
11 to 12. no more gimmicks no more trash talk
everyone get out and have a good time. and preston
the next time you want to blame people for not being
music elite and not liking new stuff remember your at
the masquerade. lenny's this week kids or other places
there is more than enough space for every1.

It's amazing the amount of power that 75/85 south yields over me. What is normally, with a regular traffic flow, a fifteen minute commute turns into an over-an-hour long drive home if any sort of accident clogs up lanes. And what an accident there was yesterday! The sign at Sidney Marcus read "major accident on 75/85 at I-20, four lanes blocked exit now to avoid." And how I exited! I've never merged over three lanes so quickly in all my driving experience. Even with exiting (which is what everyone and their mother was attempting) it still took an hour to get home. At which time I was grumpy and just wanted to sleep.

Speaking of sleep, the Age of Relative Responsibility is making me sleepier than ever. Three full nights of sleep in a row and I'm ready to zzzzzzzzzzz....hey! Wake me up if that happens again! Thank god I'm going out tonight. My body doesn't like this forced detox.
ciao manhattan.

At this time of day, it usually takes about 132 seconds for your photo to appear on your Fotolog.

...strange amount of time.

Today ushers in a new era of responsibility for me. I call it the Age of Relative Responsibility, and I expect it to last two, maybe two and a half days. This morning (after getting to work on time, after a full night of sleep) I paid bills and balanced my checkbook. And then filled out a bunch of timesheets. Tonight instead of going out I plan on reading, doing some light housekeeping and possibly writing. Then I will go to sleep at a decent hour.

And it was a golden age indeed.
I love it when people call themselves hip. Personally I prefer "pseudo-intellectual fuckup."

Some insights from Monday night:
-you cannot find cigarettes in downtown Atlanta before seven am. Especially if you are
driving around having this conversation:
Me: "Which way do you think we should go?"
Him: "I'm not sure. Maybe right?"
Me: "That's a one-way street."
Him: "Maybe we should go around the block again."
Me: "Ok."
Him: "Why is it nothing but breakfast places are open?"
Me: "Seriously. Don't they know some of us like nicotine for breakfast?"
and upon arrival at BP:
Him: "Do you want me to get out and get them?"
Me: "That's ok, I'll do it."
Him: "Are you sure?"
Me: "Uh-huh."
Him: "Really?"
Me: "Yep."
continue to sit in car.
Him: I'm getting out with you.
end scene
-A lot of my life is spent discussing and/or participating in cigarette acquisition. That shall be the subject of my next novelette.
-Towing companies are pure evil.
-Margaritas are pure evil (still).
-No matter how much you think they'll change, some people just continue to dissappoint. Not hurt, just dissappoint.
-I can somewhat understand the above because I have not been the best of friends lately. It's nothing personal, it's just the state I'm in. Not a great one, admittedly, but I'm there nonetheless.
-Some people (see: earlier cigarette dialogue, see: earlier dissappointment) are also smarter than I think a lot of people give them credit for. (Quit rolling your eyes; I don't exactly throw around smart cards.)
-I'm pretty pathetic, huh?
-Not getting enough sleep for seven nights in a row is not a good idea.
-I need to allocate money in a wiser manner.

Now is the time that I resume my studies on the fine art of passive persuasion.

Ciao, Manhattan!

Flying Shark vs. Flying Croc: A Picture from the Dramatic Battle!



Nothing was concluded, as they are sock puppets.

Do not challenge this guy to a board game. You will not win:








I am an overnight internet sensation.

Last night I got all ambitious (or encouraged others to become all ambitious, as I am crap with electronics) and set up the DVD projector at the Factory to watch "Perfect Square" in big screen larger than life glory. Lemme tell ya, it's twice as good when it's ten times bigger than your normal big screen tv. It was like being in a movies theater where you can lounge on a couch with a cigarette in one hand and a glass of peach schnapps in the other. And watch R.E.M.

This morning the 'Rolla had a flat tire so I took it to Decatur (which is what you do when faced with a flat tire, right?). I took Marta in to work, which would have been fine except a massive cold front decided to take a GIANT CRAP all over Atlanta this week and I was walking against gale-force winds. I don't understand the physics in walking against the wind no matter what direction you're facing.

I did manage to read a sizable portion of "Flatland" while on the train, which is shaping up to be pretty interesting. It's basically about a society that exists only in the second dimension, the class strata determined by how many sides you had (the more, the better- circles being the highest of all), and one square's struggle to find other dimensions. I'm interested in multi-dimensional studies, so I like stuff like this...don't know if you the viewer would like it or not.

Ok I'm off to buy candy.

synesthesia
synestatic

Oh, and that reminds me of a short dialogue from Friday night:
Open on my car pulling into parking lot of Neutron Bomb, tipsy from libations, haphazardly blasting R.E.M. out the window that doesn't shut all the way. Car in park, engine still running, some young punk kids ( I can tell cause of all the zippers and acne) walk by. One of the males begin to speak.
Male Punk 1: R.E.M. sucks!
Me: Fuck off! Jesus, just because something doesn't have a 2/4 beat...
(end scene)
ENCORE!
Me: I love the fact that the toilet is overflowing onto all these wires.

My goal this week is to work R.E.M. into every post in some way or another. Nope, no reason.

I just converted a drum and bass/ambient dj into an R.E.M. fan. I'm like a Jehovah's Witness, except with better clothes and dance moves.
He said he stopped listening after "fables" for no particular reason, and then (insert number here) years later-meaning, a few months ago- he finds out that I like R.E.M. and decides that there might be something to them after all because my tastes are impeccable. Oh, and he said he heard "Nightswimming" for the first time (ever!) a week ago and was impressed. Plus stipe once danced at a place that he dj-d and anything for a fan. So this afternoon we're gonna watch "Perfect Square" and I shall instruct in the fine art of flailing.
Ok, gotta get back to the turntables...the "innagattadavita (extended dance remix)" is going to be over soon and I have yet to decide which Rapture song to play next! Though the dance floor here at the factory is suprisingly empty for 8am...I love the random shite that happens here. Earlier I walked in on a naked coffin photo shoot and it really didn't phase me as much as not being able to locate a lighter. Oh, and there's a coffin here. In the middle of the floor.
No seriously. The turntables. Anyone else notice that Parliaments are kinda tricky to open now? It took the strength of me and guy who reclaimed my badass sunglasses to open one pack. I guess the "stand at either end and pull" idea was golden after all. We'll have our cancer yet! Let's wear mexican blankets and make out, for old's time's sake. If I had my way I'd play Herman's Hermits and Dave Clark Five and Franz Ferdinand and "Temptation" by New Order and Cabaret Voltaire and there would be no saying no. Because my way is solely dictated by me.
Linoleum floor! Linoleum floor!
(flail)

Afterhouse. The tip of my toungue was raw from playing with the dental work behind my teeth. Eventually, I'm thinking, it will either become a giant callous or rub off in a bloody mess. My friend was discussing corporate interest in her impending public bus trip spanning the length of the United Kingdom, from northernmost Scotland moving south. Her eyes were wide and mine were drifting due to a recent covisit to the bathroom, my sinuses were beginning to strike out against my brain and complete lack of common sense. I would need kleenex soon.
I heard a dull buzz from the kitchen. Someone had broken out the juicer and was attempting to puree everything resembling fruit.
"Vodka smoothie."
"Put some wheatgrass in there. It's really good for you."
Might as well throw some cigarettes in there for all the good it will do. Even the idea of being publicly sarcastic seemed unappealing. There were so many people in the room that I had no interest in communicating with, especially the sudden influx of giggling drunk girls. I looked downright sullen and exceptionally plain next to this barrage. Mister recent fling seemed to have no interest in speaking to me, though I really didn't care. And by "really didn't care" I mean "was making me physically ill." It's one of the more attractive aspects of only wanting what you can't have, wasting energy on the wasted, picking at the sore until it bleeds.
More so than the cigarette smoke or the disgusting tonic concoctions. He's only being an asshole because I allow it, and so I went to my car and vomited into the street. Lit a cigarette and drove home.
Today has been wonderful. My tounge is still raw.

Does anyone else find that Bowie "Laughing Gnome" song vaguely disturbing?

I think if there were an orthopedist's office called "The Well-Tempered Clavicle," I would go.
Even if I had no orthopedic issues.

Some people last night used Saint Patrick's Day as an excuse to drink.
Me? I used Wednesday.

fuck, this is funny...as written by jenn trezza in her livejournal:

Razorblade Thursdays
Djing with Jennifer on Thursday at Lenny's. I don't see how we can possibly compete with Brian McParris and his evil henchmen at McMJQ. How can you compete with the machine? They should call their night Corporate Banality. Atleast I know musically we will shit all over them. Even if there are only 2 people there. Everyone can McBlow me.

McParris. McMJQ. McBlow. The jokes just write themselves.

I am starting to REALLY HATE fotolog. They're always claiming to be in-progress of making "great improvements." They've been saying this for MONTHS AND MONTHS. And I have yet to see any improvement. I understand how the volume is increasing lots and lots and it's hard to control, but don't promise great improvements if you can't deliver. Or just make it a members-only site (where everyone has to wear the jackets to get in).
And make it illegal to make those stupid smiley-faces or hearts out of words in the comment box.

ps. the margaritas are making me slightly tipsy.

This morning I went to the IMAX 3-D NASCAR movie at the Mall of Georgia (as paid for by someone else) and then watched a bunch of guys in their 30's and 40's act like eight year olds while playing the NASCAR simulation game.
I am currently drinking margaritas and eating focaccia, cheese and fruit. And listening to Franz Ferdinand, whose album is growing on me like krazy.

I am getting paid to do all of this.

random musings from pod 6
Everyone seems to be jetsetting to Florida or California or Mooseport or other exciting destinations because of spring break. (SPRING BREAK! WOO-HOO!) But alas, I work a full time corporate outfit for a living and do not get a spring break or a spring day off. It's killing me it's so beautiful outside-

Hold the phone, I just overheard the following:
"Doesn't Scott have the original bracket hand drawn on a napkin?"

-I need a pool, and how! I would take a walk if I weren't chained to the cube for another hour.

Please don't ever ever again let me call out of work for sex or drugs or rock and roll ever again. I am twenty four, not sixteen.

I just had a piece of delicious party cake, and before I ate it I mixed all the icing colors together to make a wierd purply grayish concoction. If anyone asked about it I would tell them, "Yes, my party cake has bruise-colored icing."

I have decided I fall in love easily but not often. Whatever the hell that means. The more I think about it, the more I think that the napkin bracket comment had something to do with the NCAA office pool.

It's five pm. I'm going to try and sneak out now, or nowish or in the future, but not too far in the future. AKA sometime close to now.

Apricot rugelah is not all it's cracked up to be.
I would like my fotolog archives back, please.

My badass sunglasses that aren't really mine and belt that isn't really mine are about to be reclaimed by their rightful owner. This is NOT COOL.

"Questions will be asked.
And destroyed.
By ANSWERS!"

Who Would Win?

I'm going with flying crocodile. I mean, do you see the thigh muscles on that thing?

I'm feeling rather strung out and strung along these days.
Ever met someone and thought somehow and someday this person's going to be trouble? Yeah, and then six months later it hits. Hit.

I'm jealous of everyone who is happy in love and acting all smarmy cutesy.

Yesterday Jenn and I worked on some music (well, she worked on music and I worked on lyrics), and watched a Kylie Minogue concert on tv. Kylie is pretty rad but her background dancers were wiiiiierd in a right-said-fred kind of way.

I also finally finally watched "Slow Century" and decided that I still have a girlhood crush on Malkmus. "Cut Your Hair," while not my favorite Pavement song, has to be one of my favorite videos ever. I had completely forgotten about drinking the blue liquid (barbasol?). In case you were wondering some of my other favorite videos are "Coffee and TV" and "Weapon of Choice." Even though I hate the song, Christopher Walken could dance around to freaking Donnie and Marie and I would watch it.

Today I am dressed all French, with beret, bun and off-the-shoulder shirt. And lots of black. One of my coworkers told me I should be brandishing a gun, which would make me look like a French mercenary and would be awesome.

Today is sort of grey, despite the curry.

Jet rocks my watery vodka tonic.
I'm updating from a foriegn land-nay, a great and foriegn land. And this foriegn land is known to the native folk as "Bean's House." No, not that Bean, the other one. Currently there are several people partaking in a lively discussion involving electronic noise arranged into a series of notes and chords known to some as "music." Jenn is about to go hardcore midevil on everyone's sorry asses. I mean, watch out if you know what's good for your general well being. Tonight, however. shall go down in the annals as one of the greater nights in the history of de-humidifier. For tonight ladies and gents at mjq there arrived such a breeze, a wind even, from the general direction of the land down under in the form of one musical sledgehammer. And emblazoned on the side of this sledgehammer was the name "Jet." Yes, my general public, I partied with Jet. And by partied I meant stood with and commented on various drunk people. And to be honest at first I didn't know they were Jet. I thought maybe the Hiss were reproducing. With accents.
Tell me one two three how's it gonna be....when I go smoke this next cigarette?

Well. Tell me.

In a few hours I depart for casa de madre in LaGrange where I shall consume large amounts of normally non-vegetarian food which my mom has made vegetarian by substituting the broth of a chicken for the broth of a mushroom. And salmon croquettes will somehow, I'm sure, be involved. They always are- those bastard interloping fried pieces of deliciousity. I will then be finished with my requisite food consumption for the month and can go back to my normal nicotineladen ways.
Other big weekend plans involve doing taxes and getting my car serviced. It's going to be hot in that back room at mjq kinda way- except with a Goodwill Emporium. I love the Emporium.
Speaking of which, oh shit, I gotta join AAA.
So what I'm saying is don't call me tonight at 5am because I will be catching up on sleep. There is a small chance I'll be back on Saturday but most likely it will be Sunday, just in time for Sunday at Stokeswood.

And also, everyone read Mesmerization Eclipse. Do not question me.

It's the "Yeah, like I needed a test to tell me that" test.

Disorder	Rating
Paranoid:	High
Schizoid:	Moderate
Schizotypal:	High
Antisocial:	Low
Borderline:	Very High
Histrionic:	High
Narcissistic:	Moderate
Avoidant:	High
Dependent:	High
Obsessive-Compulsive:	Low
-- Personality Disorder Test - Take It! --

I've already told you to keep me away from rivers.
I guess pills and such now as well, though pills don't work very well because by the time you get to the point where they actually start "working" you've thrown up all the ones you took to begin with.
Nothing beats shoving your scars in people's faces. They're never quite sure what to say.

Lovely.

Earlier I looked at my watch and said, "It's almost 7:30. I should probably get going." One more cigarette on the cold cold porch. Good god, I feel like shit on a shitstick and it's probably going to get worse. At least I didn't call out this time.
R-E-S-P-O-N-S-I-B-I-L-T-Y is a fucking long word.
I told Ken his new earrings made him look like a pirate. I don't think he appreciated it.
I was kind of shitty to some of my friends last night, who were probably wondering why I was talking to Ken in the first place.
Good fucking question.
My heart's the bitter buffalo, however, is a better question.

Perhaps it was the disillusionment following the fall of the communist bloc. Or perhaps simply a particularly lethal combination of absinthe, insomnia and the rising popularity of the uber-innovative supergroup Up With People. Either way there's no denying that 1991 found the members of Electroschnitzel questioning the very foundations of their "sound," or lack thereof. And so laden with nothing but a casio keyboard and fifteen mismatched wrestling boots, they found solace in the basement of an abandoned bank (which would later become the disco "Das Banken," and still later be forced to change locations and names: "Das Laundromaten" and "Das Wilheilm'sBasementen," consecutively) It was there that Electroschnitzel attempted to write their one and only "song." Liner notes from the unfinished single "Neuer!" point out the difficulties of writing a song in a key that didn't yet exist. Some still question the validity of "diminished F flat neutral," pointing out that the whole song consists of nothing but the quiet hum of the only working AC in East Berlin. The rarely-performed and hard to find "Neuer" remains a danse hall classic to this very day, especially when it was later remixed as "House of Jealous Lovers."

Celebrity Jeopardy
"Mr. Connery, it's your turn."
"I'll take the rapists for 200."
"That's therapists."
"And the day is mine!"

Anyone know who sings that song that keeps repeating "your love is better than my love, sing it..." (or perhaps vice versa)? Heard it last night at postmodern while sippin on champagne and subsequently forgot to ask the dj about it.
Last night I also wrote more lyrics to songs that still don't have music, as inspired partly by the Belle and Sebastian dvd "For Fans Only." Beautiful videos, by the way.
blip blip blip.
(exactly)

One sign that you're out too late: watching people jump roof-to-roof at eyedrum and thinking "well, nothing seems wrong with that."
The one time I forget my camera and people become airbourne.

"I didn't know anyone was throwing rocks at the window, but I was wondering what that rock-like sound near the window was."
"It could have been possums in the wall."
"If the possums got out of the wall and started throwing rocks at the window."
"Exactly."

Fill me with bar-b-que sauce, because I'm dumb as hell!

Dear life,

STOP IT!

thank you.

Assembly lines assemble the lines wait in line for an assembly
Whatever they say life is, the dead philosophers and ill-advised literature, the cached think tank of well-bred idiots, whatever overarching plan or archaic demise we look forward to and have to look forward to and fall on to look forward to and cry alone to look forward to and medicate to forget, whatever we dance to drink to hesitate to daydream to whatever we look out the window for and we all look out the window for whatever we care to love or can't help to love or make us smile and oh god make us smile whatever the crazy look to the sane, whatever they scream doomsday scream backwards backwoods dialectics whatever they (and especially them) say life is
I just see a lot of furniture. I see a lot of opportunities to sit.

Though the phenomenon of static electricity had been around since the beginning of time, I don't think it ever saw dryer sheets coming.

I have four blankets on my bed. When I last left the house at 5pm, each one was crumpled into it's own little separate pile on the floor.
I don't want to go back just yet. Everything reeks of afterhours, of early morning. Called out of work because I was really very violently ill, and because I needed sleep. And sleep. And sleep. And kleenex. Yeah, ill, jumpy/hands crawling brand of ill. Details are fuzzy, can't explain why or anything these days.

There's a profile of my friend Jenn in this week's Creative Loafing: Right here!

Yes, but no one has said a damn word about the mise en scene in "The Passion of the Christ." I don't need to know how very very Christian it is, but I'll be damned if I see a movie without being pre-informed about the rate of mise en scene.

I love blogs that are titled "My blog." Or "Mike's blog." Or "My world." God, don't over-exert your imagination or anything. I really really want to read about your life now, what you thought about Oprah's book of the month, what prescriptions you picked up this afternoon at CVS, what your favorite mashed potato topping is...

A recent Melting Dolls post reminds me that I'm really tired of hearing- at some point during every party: "I'm so excited! I'm so excited! I'm...so...scared..."

I like cheddar cheese. On mashed potatoes that is. (or, as I like to call them in my head, mashie p's)

I like Imperial Teen, toasty apple cider, dressing like a French mercenary, and sex on friday. You?

slammed!

this side of monday...
-The Paris Hilton sex video is exquisitely unremarkable. The fact that it is filmed through night vision goggles just makes me feel sorry for Paris's remaining brain cells.
-Next time I am on a pseudo-runway I shall put the cigarette out in someone's eye.
-It's rare that I'm in a situation so odd that I think "I need to go do normal things, like massive amounts of drugs." So fuck me kitten, you are wild.
-I've smoked so many cigarettes/even the voices in my head are hoarse and losing it.
-Last night I started writing random song lyrics. (see above- though they don't all sound like wilco).
-Just some words to sync up with robotic blips. I'm thinking "Universal Traveler" meets "Debaser" meets the noise of an angry Comodore 64. But with style!

...ciao! Manhattan.
dehumidifier

This weekend, um, happened.
Yep.

(uncomfortable silence)

(sips coffee)

Gotta go.