God, I really suck at the follow-through business, no? I think I haven’t written on this fucking blog since the end of January maybe? Asshole, I am.
Anyway, sitting at a different library now, with the same ol’ time limit. Hurry, hurry.
My life has been what is keeping me away from computers. It has all been strange and beautiful as usual. Where now, with the writing? I should be coming up with funny anecdotes about the odd encounters I have with people, yes? I mean, it’s best to write about the human condition, I think; perhaps social dynamic is the cornerstone of said human condition.
But I think, sadly, hilariously, that I want to write about ME!! I, ME, ME, MINE.
Uhh… Haha. Not much to say on the subject. Well, no, that’s not entirely true. I’m just… preoccupied. Obsessed, really. The whole “growing up” thing is still happening. And I’m really actually doing it, in ways, and so I keep obsessing over new avenues that my newfound maturity can navigate. Basically, I’m still a retarded shithead, but I’m trying.
There are pages in a tiny notebook of mine that are ridiculous. Grocery lists. Budget plan. Blah blah. But I like it.
I’ve moved into a new house. In the beginning of March. Roommates and stuff. It’s a pretty great house, so far (save for the possible potential throat-punching of a particular part-time drunkenly antagonistic female roommate… but she’s moving in two weeks, so let’s hope the problem disappears on its own).
There’s a front porch that’s more like a deck with a roof over it, chairs, tables, ashtrays. There’s a back yard and gardens and compost heap and a goddamn pear tree. I can see the West Hills (and the top of some bridge, can’t discern which) from the window in my room.
I’m making art out of furniture, but I’ve still not written a song since being back in Portland. Five months. Ideas, yes. But no complete pieces. LAAAME.
Whatever, though, shit has been weird. I mean, I finally have a place to sleep that isn’t a couch in my friends’ living room. Shit, I have a door that LOCKS. And I’ve been locking the fuck out of it, just because I can.
THE POINT, however, is that things are settling down for me. Finally.
Mmmmmmm… what else?
Oh, right, the Apocalypse. Yep. That’s coming soon to a window near you. If we learned anything at all from Back to the Future, it’s that you DON’T FUCK WITH THE LIBYANS.
And I didn’t have my blog before the last U.S. presidential election, but I was telling people that whole time that Obama is going to turn out to be the Antichrist. Which, to be honest, I later changed my mind on when I saw Jesse Jackson crying happy tears on election night. But. Fuck it. I’m changing my mind back.
I will survive the Apocalypse, though, and finally have some peace and quiet so I can READ. I will read all the books on Earth, and I will have them all to myself. Ummm…
Right, right. So. I’m probably gonna scrap this blog at some point, and start a new one. I need anonimity. Realising that part of my problem is that I can’t be all-the-way honest on this blog anymore. Too many real people from my life have access to it.
I am far more me than I care to reveal to everyone I know. So. Sorry ’bout that. But I really need to be able to VENT, and I can’t do that here. Not to the fullest of my abilities.
So… Yeah. I don’t know.
Of course, I will be back again. Eventually. Maybe I’ll have many blogs. Shit, I may even start writing on Trickster Syndicate again. Maybe I won’t do a fucking thing. Maybe I will stay focused on what’s actually happening right now, rather than focusing on retelling everything to a sea of quiet faces behind computer moniters.
Anyway. I am still alive.