Ye Gods, let's go Phishing!

Finished that. Going to bed.

The search for a new tire begins. I recorded a lot more on this day but I chose to delete a few of the entries for reasons of stupidness.

My summary of the day so far.. What is particularly disturbing in this: my neighbor did pass away. Sucks, but that's life. My condolences to the fam.

Massive wave hits Japan. Godzilla struggles to lift sandbags into place.

What is the deal with shitty new rock? If it were any more generic, these records would be released by Acme. Now why the hell would I want to talk to her? I'm on good terms with most of my ex-girlfriends but she is just ridiculous. She had her tits blown up surgically to be more aesthetically pleasing. She had her brain transplanted with a boob. She figured that men loved her for the tits.. not her mind. Why not just get rid of that useless gray mass altogether and just put another beautiful flesh-bag up there? Soft nipple caressing the back of her eye. It's a better fit than that old brain was, anyway. That piece of shit was constantly giving her headaches.
And I can't love a woman like that... Much less talk to her. The only reasonable form of discourse between us is related to Puppies, Kittens, Flowers, Jesus, and Ether.

First Audio Post Ever.

Punks and Emo kids slam dancing to the sound of Celine Dion and Buckethead. Particularly disturbing to most, and nauseating to others. No real commitment to the social barriers in this house. It's clean of your usual American/Religious propaganda. Can't we all just get a long... stick and beat the shit out of each other with it?

Brain oh brain, can we speak for a moment?
you've got to stop with this haze.
even one day of clarity would do you wonders, oh mind.
Why worry yourself about such things:
Those females will torment you until the day you die.
That job will never pay quite well enough.
Your physique will always be less than satisfactory.
The words that you speak and the paragraphs that you write will never entertain you.
The critic won't leave.

This cycle is illogical and chaotic. The spin is very powerful.
Set the temperature to 330.
feel yourself melt.

Shit upon the piano and dance the night away.
Tonight, she plays for you.
That guitar has seen over ninety stages.
It has been in front of 5,209 screaming alcoholics.
More cramped and smoke filled bars than New York City can lay claim to..
The money isn't motivation. If it was, she'd have about $20 worth.
For the experience, though, she'd gladly give her life. In fact, she has.
Just another artist in her van. Spreading her thoughts wherever she can.
Her hope - that a singular soul remembers a particular line; because it was funny, amusing, or clever..
And recites that line to their grandchildren, their spouse, or their friend next door...
maybe then she can live forever.