I've lost the impulse to write. About anything or whatever. So here I am forcing myself. I a love certain drug a lot, and it helps me do things like "this," and that's why I don't do that drug. It's too nice. I'm listening to a Professor Griff solo single on Luke records right now. I'm going to watch Hey Good Lookin' on VHS (not the WB clamshell) in a few minutes. I wrote that Machete review while babysitting an art gallery in town. I have some collages up there, I'm happy about that, lots of unlikely folks came in and looked at them. Old people, whoever. There is a closing reception on Friday...the appeal of the wine and cheese is diminished hugely when you have to provide it yourself. Wine and cheese should be free. I quit my good paying/soul crushing/tiring job and thought my productivity would go up three fold, but instead it's like the old days on a good week, but with less stress. The space in my mind that was taken up by the job (Hummus factory) hasn't really been replaced by anything except the feeling of cruising. Smooth sailing. It feels weird...y'know, enjoying life. It's pretty hard for me to commit to things, even more so now, I think. I listen to half a record, check the innanet, watch some of a movie, try to clean my room, wash some dishes, record some music. Drugs?
I feel a little funny that my favorite part of Machete was the mother/daughter 3 way...I guess that's good exploitation...making you feel weird and sleazy.
The 12" of "Teenage Love" has a different version of "Treat Her Like a Prostitute" on it...cool.
Now I'm listening to "Pile Driver: the Wrestling Album part II." This one is heavier so far. Heh.
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