...perpetual days, silly girl

"For the right price I can get everything
Slip into the car, go driving to the farthest star" circles, m.doughty

... it went a little off the rails, but it had to. thirty one has been awesome to me. i lived in a deep irrational fear of my thirties in my twenties, and had i known how good things were going to get, my twenties would have looked much different. but thats ok. because if my twenties had looked different, my thirties might suck. and now, im happily awaiting my forties (fingers crossed).

last night we took the mazda speed daemon up 71 at miles per hour so illegal it went full respect circle. jeromy joked about "dat g-force, tho" and i couldn't do much else but giggle and agree. zoom, zoom, indeed.

it is always such a privilege to see mr. Mike Doughty preform live; even more so when it is the revered question jar show, with Andrew "Scrap" Livingston. Mike on banjo and Scrap on cello, in a room the size of my whole apartment. it is a spiritual thing.

a pair of homebro lovebirds in front of me couldn't STFU, and at one point, right at the 27 second mark into the song ("Light Will Keep Your Heart Beating in the Future") Mike turns toward us and says, "There are plenty of places to talk, and none of those places are right here!" i was glad he did it, but man, i hated being guilty by association.

i wanted to stick around to meet him, but there would be none of that last night. jeromy wanted me to have my selfie with Mike, but the man has already signed my arm, which is a tattoo, and so we settled for a slick hoodie and the Live at Ken's House LP.

we skirted a few minutes early, because the crowd was a gelatinous cess pool, and le fuck that. we ran back down 71, sometimes hitting 160+, laffing our heads off, our fireball blood transfusions complete, and jamming sick dj music the whole way.

somewhere along the way i fell asleep.

what a great fucking night. what a perfect evening with my best friend, my favorite musician, and way too much whisky and ipa.

...dead to rights

"...how am i gonna be an optimist about this?" -bastille, pompeii 

it's funny how you feel your grips loosen on your reins, you know. you know what i mean. sometimes you recognize the madness around you, not because it's obvious, but because its familiar. one million tiny mirrors around every corner. you begin to find Charles Bukowski less and less ironic. Patrick Bateman becomes more tragic.

i am ever more reminded of the time i drove past the Cadillac Ranch and didn't stop.  i should have insisted on halting the CrownVic, but no one listens to the chick in a tore up Stranglers t-shirt with a Hello Kitty lunchbox purse who can't keep track of her money or flip flops. instead, i concentrated on Oklahoma, on how i thought it was beautiful, and wether or not those clouds were cells.

people will have fucked up expectations of you no matter what. it will never matter how poorly someone treated you, it will not prevent them from imagining your favors are forfeit to them.

what a fucked up perspective.

take some responsibility.

i love that succinct pop phrase: i just can't. because, i actually just can't.

so, i really think it's making me crazy. the more i try to be so good, do no harm, hurt no one, the more i have the exact opposite effect. oh well, can't please em all.

***

in Germany, a man argued with his family. things escalated. he stormed out, got into his car and left to purchase explosives. when he returned, he detonated his car, killing himself, injuring seven family members and neighbors, and damaging houses.

...it's just so passionate.

...sound

...theres so much noise now. today. now. presently.

i keep smelling vomit everywhere.