13 December 2018. 4:11 am, and this day would be the day of my father’s 70th birthday. It also marks the 3rd day for my skeletor to rise from the dead. (Fingers crossed, mothing fucking no idea wtf will happen?) But you know what is really bothering me? I’m so anxious not because I fear the
Tag: manage a trio
12 December 2018, and it looks like the band is coming back together. Or most of us, sort of. I haven’t seen nor heard from Jack and I am freaking out. Maybe it’s just me because I’m a super neurotic, over-thinking, over-sharing, over-the-top fucking FEELER OF FEELINGS. But…?!!?!?! I dunno?!! Look, there are 3/4 band
Campaign antichrist kicked off the fucking season. The whore of Babylon is waiting for her turn. Gotta finish the horsemen stampede and quickly shove them to the side because Christmas time is coming, and father needs somewhere to park his ride. I’m summoning the spirit of sound. That happened. I posted it before writing this.
1802 words. Read it if you’re literate and/or so inclined. I wrote it anyway TODAY, JUST NOW (except for the bit where I said I copied and pasted it from an email exchange yesterday) | 5th December, 2018. Dawn. I like to write at dawn. THIS IS MY APOCALYPSE, NOW. Yesterday was my sundown. It’s
It is almost 6am, 30th November, and I wanted to write something just in case I don’t have the chance to update something here later on today. You know how it is, right? What I’m like? Soooo super sensitive to the movements and requirements and requests and implied implications of everyone around me as I
I need music I need melody I can move my body I can be free, be me Get inside me, in my body It helps me feel alive I want you to fill me in my body Plug all 27 sphincters inside So many holes, so little time If I can smoothie blend you Will
No word of a lie. I mean, nothing here has been a lie anyway. Everything I have ever written about has been 100% true. Everything I have ever written about has been 100% true. Hard core factual stuff. All verifiable and shit. MUNDANE PROFANE MATERIAL PHYSICAL REAL STUFF. Everything. I don’t lie. I hate liars.