I used my girlfriend's computer to finish a script for a movie that doesn't make sense and felt like going to california and then I discovered two things andthe first thing was that I wasn't a writer very good and the secnd thing was that I have no girlfriend.

I found my high-schools webite to be quite racist today and I askmy self no, am I a good skinhead or a baddun.

i FIND MYSELF FIXXED IN THE TRANSLTION OF AFTERTHOUGHTS. OF COURSE WHAT i THINK IS THAT hACKSLEY WAS RIGHT WEN HE DIDN'T TALK ABOUT MUSIC.

i THINK I WAS RIGHT NOT TO CLAIM THE SEERUEL POETE

Current Music: David Rovics, After We Torture Our Prisoners

It has been said that home is where the heart is. When we enter a home where are needs are met and we define needs as security we find our slice of pie. Therefore, in order to find our security one must define primary needs; accordingly living to meet these for the home. Operating in the paradime of need to action brings enevitable change. The evil ones locked me in an attic. They fed me slaughtered animals. They made me to say I will be the one who must die for our sins. Therefore, within the collective there must be not a chain of command but rather an action of love. Love is patient which should never be difficult.

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Tags: marijuana
Current Music: Cat Power

I came across this interesting little imperative in a periodical recently. My dog ate it.

(Or is it? Who knows. Maybe one day I'll be able to answere your riddles without a sense of humor. Until then, the change is upon us. `

Oh silly children of the dream,
Why do you kick when I scream?
Whiskey and writing glued you down,
Now remember those sweet lessons.
Smash your symbols and challenge
Your art.

The Friday before last I was invited to a small house party. I walked to the Old 63 Break Time to rendezvous with my friend Rob. He was working the tail end of his shift. We smoked a cigarette at the picnic table in front of the store and then I waited for a couple of hours for his shift to end. At ten o'clock we hopped on his scooter and rode to the party, singing covers of our favorite music along the way. The first person I met at the party was a cute woman named Hailey, who asked me if I was the "infamous" one. I said it was probably I, but that I would be grateful if she drew her own conclusions about me. She agreed and we talked for a bit. The party went late and I smoked but managed to stay away from the drink for the duration of the party. Mark, one of the traveling kids, was there telling jokes and keeping an eye on his dog. I went to sleep late in the evening in one of the walk-in closets and Rob left for his own home on the scooter. In the morning I mooched a few cigarettes and shot the shit with the few people who remained from the party and one of the tenants of the house, a guy named Jeff (?). A bunch of our mutual friends had gone to St. Louis for a rave and we that remained planned for attendance of our own at another rave near the town's airport.

Current Music: The Dark Circles

On my way to the library today I ran into an old friend, Matt, from one of my support groups. He bummed me a cigarette and asked what I've been doing lately. I told him that I'd been hanging out at the community center for the mentally ill and with my druggy friends adding, "Trying not to let them influence me." He responded, "Testing the waters?" yeah. I explained that I was still a drunk but trying to become more social about my addiction. He wants me to let him know how that goes. Ever since re-wiring my brain via hallucinogens I've found that when I drink to excess I become a sexual animal, predatory and evil. This is the realization that has taken years to endure. I could recount my mistakes here but that would be redundant. It's all the same story: Drink, Drinking, Drunk, Creep. It's redundant.

Vomit fer the dogs tis the shaking mistake of debauchery.

At a rave earlier this month I passed out free copies of the zine by the same title as this entry. People mostly looked confused by it, but after a couple of weeks frequenting places where the ravers were to hang out afterwards I began to hear some decent reviews. People like it. I'm satisfied with this, although no one recognized the centerfold polaroids as me, which I found depressing. I've become much more generic than the lean long-hair of my youth's peak. One of the young men who looked at the zine wanted my e-mail, as he wanted more from the author. I couldn't bring myself to tears of joy but I wrote the e-mail down all the same. Happy Happy Joy Joy.