Kretek and a Lack of Common Sense define me.

What have i done recently to warrent typing in this here blog... hmmm

Well, i've killed the last week by

A. sleeping
B. Writing music
C. sleeping
D. Drinking Guinness at Brandon's
E. resting
F. Drinking Guinness at La Piazza (or something to that similar effect)
G. Not being awake

Bryn is off in Florida till later on tonight, and as of late she has been the virtual staple of my evenings. Mariokart and cigarettes, and then conversation revolving around everything from dead people to odd art. Coincidentally, that art is mostly from currently dead people.

In addtion to Ms. Bryn, there is Kyle and Brandon, who interchangably take time up during my days. I sleep mostly, however. And work. And then, i go to fulton bank, cash my check, pay eight thousand bills, gawk at the five dollars remaining, and then waste it on something dumb like ho hos, or a claw machine.

The plan which is unfolding currently long term involves me (censoring this parts details by request) moving the hell out of this hell hole. Fuck Lancaster. Ahem. (sorry, Friend from South Carolina, for the random cursing)

Floating about on the agenda is my Sportbike, which of course requires a loan from the bank. After my current debt is settled, a new debt of about $9000 will be incurred so i can buy the jet black GSXR 750 i so desire. I am about to have my permit, and soon the license to ride one. This will be in about three months, or if i decide to buy the leather coat instead, six months.

Long term goals involving my actual life are sketchy, heh. No female options to speak of, although i do have some very keen ideas. While i am not actively searching for someone, there are certainly doors to which i have the key. (that was terribly melodramatic... damnit...)

As of right now, five of the twelve tracks for my as of yet nameless album are either completed or near completion. How long is it going to take? er... at the rate i've been going...

never.

but eh.

I find it interesting how people manage to go through just about every day worried about something, or pissed about something, or stressed about something. Nine times out of then, right that moment, in the heat of thier anger, they can't do anything about whatever it is that is bugging them. Yet they stress. Why stress over things you can't change? And why doesn't anyone just shrug and say, oh well? Shit happens, man. Sounds dumb, but its the truth. If i worried about all the junk i am responsible for all the time, i'd be dead. it doesn't mean its not important, it just means i chose to simply cross bridges when i come to them, and not tremble and scream four miles away from the aforementioned bridge.

Lighten up, jesus.(again, sorry friend)

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