i got nothing to say.

partly because im, well… hungover isnt the word, but its close. i kinda zone out the next day, probably in memorial of the lost brain cells that i lead to the gallows. my stomach is screaming. my head is empty. coke isnt doing the trick. the next day, the only feeling or emotion i recognize is sadness, so i feed that some choice cuts on the way in… kate nash. nicest thing > the airborne toxic event. sometime around midnight > ryan adams: fix it > pumpkins. soma > bon iver. blindsided > tv on the radio. blind

years ago when i worked here i had some days that were like this but way more brutal. having ended, what was supposed to be a slowfading death with another soul, we were out every night. you may have seen us in those haunts. like fixtures. trying to be alive while trying to kill ourselves. the bottoms of some bottles were gazed into… the floors of some pubs and decks and parking lot gravel (hahaha) were met with our faces. sleeping in the bed of a pickup in a club parking lot in february. staring cold at a wooden slat of fence for hours on end while the cold ate around my ears and fingertips, fed to volverines…

last night, years later, was a continuation of that with a different perspective… what perspective that is: i have no idea because i can barely concentrate on spelling right now… but its different, and i know that. and im cool wit it…

so expect no words on the current state of the country or an analysis of the current tax plan and how it relates to octogenarians in a fixed income, because i aint got it today kid. im dumb, boy.

we met an awesome girl last night straight outta boston with probably the best and most infectious laugh ever. i wish her well.