death, this is your cousin sleep

in the not so distant past i had the sleep was not a necessity for me. for the first three years of my collegiate life i was able to live on an average of three to four hours of sleep night.

this remarkable super power was one that only seemed to intensify when i got to england during the spring of my junior year and learned that if i put my mind to it i could function of one to two hours. sure i was sick a lot of the time (although nothing compared to the previous fall, where my mom once found me sprawled out on the bathroom floor my undershirt sprinkled with blood and a big ol chunk of my lungs lying near my armpit., but i was never ever tired. this is a time where my life consisted of the following activities:

1. drinking newcastle
2. eating cornish pasties (and proposing to the beautiful bjorns who made them)
   
3. drinking lots of tesco value liquor
   

really all of these are activities that should have sapped me of any and all energy my body may have possessed or at least made me a fat retarded mess. instead i lost 30 pounds and felt more energized than i ever had in my life before. it was a weird course of events, but it was one that reminded me of my post human abilities.

anyway back to what i was initially writing about (i will celebrate times in the eastern racist chav-ridden bloc of england another time), when i got back from england i continued this way of living. id been able to get by on it for five months, so i saw no reason to change my ways, especially if i was enjoying myself. the things was that i sort of took it to a whole new levels. an exponentially new level. three and four days would go by without me sleeping. nights were spent sprinting back and forth between here and the outskirts of Los Angeles county and a jet propulsion laboratory. all the while i kept to my commitments (even if i was constantly an hour or two late, for reason completely unrelated to my sleeping habits).

by the end of the summer i was becoming more and more convinced that i was about to transcend being and becoming a human entity free of any basic needs. my life would be one that could be dedicated to nothing but reading pynchon, contemplating (and looking to hard for) the narratives of my favorite sports, and naked girlies. it was going to be amazing.

but alas shit rarely turns out as we expect it and shortly after the summer to end all summers i found myself in desperate need of some rest. every morning i was exhausted, my body aching as i ever so slowly swung my legs off of my bed and walked across my charmingly gray and dilapidated crack house towards the decrepit closet we used as our bathroom. all in all it sucked. i was sleeping more than ever before (first four to five hours, then six, and finally between eight and nine hours a night) but it wasnt doin shit. i was tired as fuck and things werent going any better.

this leads me to this morning and the initial impetus for this scrawling. this morning i woke up at the crack of 8am, extricated myself from bed, and realized that although i had work i felt...well rested. i felt alright. good even. my body was not the normal creaking jalopy i was used to, but a much improved and fuel efficient asian economy vehicle. and really is there much more that you can ask for besides that?

this also makes me wonder what super powers im about to get back.

Jurassic Park!!

As Sergei so illustriously pointed out, today is indeed a day of celebration, a day to lift our respective glasses to the sky, give a furious whoop of unbridled joy and badassedness, to then lower said glasses and perhaps pour a bit out of them before emptying them of their delicious, life-sustaining contents.

It also a day just like every day--a day to sit down with a tuna-melt and a Mountain Dew, and think about how Jurassic Park fucking ruled. Remember the part where that one guy who plays Muldoon thinks he's hunting the raptors, only to find that they are actually HUNTING HIM! Clever girl! Or do you recall that cute little animated double helix that narrates the story of Jurassic Park's god-defying dinosaur experiments? In your face, God! Chalk one up for little round old guys who have enough money to buy Jeff Goldblum outright.

Of course, if you watch Jurassic Park today, all of the dinosaurs look like ghost-dinosaurs, since the special effects didn't age very well. But, in the end, that sort of makes it even scarier. I mean, fucking GHOST DINOSAURS? Goodnight and good luck (and I ain't talkin' 'bout George Clooney)!

***

And, for the record, I resent being put in the same category as a certain rehabbing junkie. Everything in moderation, Minxie; I am of the opinion that a little speedball every once in a while never hurt anyone. This is America, after all, a country veritably founded on potentially lethal cocktails of heroin and cocaine. That is all.

not even your special move will save you this time...oh wait, maybe thats a good thing

in every situation i find myself in, i have an immediate escape route. i walk into a room (or a situation or a relationship) and i guage my surrounding and come up with a plan of what to do when shit happens. when youre me shit happens a lot so you need to have a plan, a way out, someway to escape the vacuous state you find yourself in with your soul intact. this is something i havent told many people, in fact it might be something ive only told one other person (and its what made up bestest buddies forever) but now im telling you all. well all four of you at least.

i bring this up now because for the first time in my life i dont have an escape plan. i dont have one because for once i feel--how do you say---comfortable. or at least at ease. actually fuck all that. for once in my life i dont want the escape plan, for once in my life im ready to weather whatever shit i may encounter because for once things are good and i like them and i dont want them to change. this is a feeling i rarely have. at least in regards to this set of issues. i dont care that my heart will be spending the better part of the next year in london. id rather it not, but shits what it is, and ill deal with it. in fact ill excell at it, and prove all naysayers wrong. each and every one of them (and maybe even you, although if youre reading this you might have--gulp!--faith in me).

whatevs. the point is i realized long ago that much of our lives are spent wanting more, but i dont want more right now, because i got all the more i could ever wish for. when this happens we are taught we should hold onto, but i dont think were ever really taught how to recognize this, and because of this we rarely ever do. but im not making that mistake. this kind of thing doesnt happen often, and im riding it till the wheels come off.

***

we avoid mentions of who we are or may be but im giving that philosphy the boot for right now. its november 9th, a day of true celebration, and i want to wish cbt and fab wonderful wonderfulness and wish upon them both all the wonderfulness that life has to offer. espesh cbt though. espesh C-B-T.

Have your Pad Thai and make it Mild.

A preface. Welcome to the new world Dr. Dinosaur or whatever your name may be. Archie tells me that you too are addicted to heroine. Well, I've been in some rough spots before. I've had my eyes opened, closed, and jabbed by the iron grip of addiction and the best advice I can give is to put down those Wonder Woman Comic Books and get a job. 

Secondly. It's Lil' Wayne Week here at New Hindenburg. You'll hear a lot of fancy words from Sergei about how Wayne is New Hindenburgian. That's funny, I thought he was a rapper. 

***

Some things don't need explanation to be understood. Earthquakes, Parkinson's, and other things that shake are simply there. Reasons are secondary to their existence. Unlike a thirteen year old girl, they have no need for your validation or attention. Like a thirteen year old girl, Earthquakes can't get enough of Zac Efron. Watch out sir, that's one mistress you don't want to scorn. 

Despite being the most complicated of all natural disasters Earthquakes are the most basic thing in my world. The ground shakes. It's dangerous. No World Series. Jose Canseco stands around confused. 

In the grand scheme of things there are infinite beings and ideas. In the scope of my daily interactions there are only three people and I'm one of them. These other two are the only people I see. I wish I could say it was because they were so groundbreaking. Hell, I wish I could say it was because they were my cell mates, but that isn't true. These people comprise 66% of the human race because we are that closely linked. One just yelled at me to stop typing so he could sleep and dream of a life with POGS. Regrettably, I had to say "No. Fuck you." This is the only free time I have before the booze/mescaline/insecurity kicks in. 

Three beings is enough to make the idea of an omniscient God palatable to the majority of people my parents introduced me to as a child. Don't get me wrong. It's good, damn good, but I'm still hungry for a little bit more. This causes me to search elsewhere, which is where he danger lies. 

Dissatisfaction is the leading cause of stupidity. Seeing as all of us are dissatisfied in our own special, unique ways, we are all stupid in a special way. One may lie in bed, looking all circular, dreaming of sex or egg nog, or a collection of both. One may idle around, telling himself everything's ok, while regressing all the while. One may refuse to sit still, opting instead to run around burning bridges. 

Burning bridges can lead to new relationships or arrests for felony trespassing. The pace also leads to projects, good projects. That glass filled lot? Let's aim high but unintentionally make it a parking lot! We can toil under the sun every monday until we begin to worry about that mole on our arm and our mother's warnings. We can have a vision, we can have promise, we can have sacrifices. Our being can be infused with a sense of purpose that serves to reinvent everything we know and provide something to talk about when drunk or with girls or priests or dogs that sort of look like girls. We can have all this but without any approval we will be shy. We will become insecure. We will talk about it like imperialists. We will attempt to conquer others with our vision of what is beautiful and storm off when these visions don't align.

Without validation, we'll wonder if we're doing it for the right reasons. We'll force things up like Al Sharpton fakes indignation. Suddenly we're selfish, hopeless human beings.  No matter what spark we attempt to try to conjure we'll still be stuck. I'm fine with there being a world consisting of Donald Driver, McDonald's gift certificates, and unnecessary showers. I'm not fine with that being the only world there is. 

A sign was needed. At the very least for hope. At the very most for validation. Sitting in dirt up to your waist, you don't require much. I'd have have have have have have have have settled for a gatorade when the truck came a-calling. alley life leads to homeless escapades, fear culture, and trucks. Jalopys heaped high with furniture and aluminum pass on a ten minute rotation. It could be the same truck every time, I can't bring myself to care. 

This truck came bumbling down the way like a bad halloween costume, it was enough to catch my interest, not nearly enough to sustain it. It came to a stop and a college aged man of college age exited the car with a keg. He hoisted it with little effort before leaving it next to my adopted dumpster. I got back to help. 

Finished with my toil, a friend came to offer help just as I was quitting. To answer your query he always exercises such impecable timing.  We talked about the keg, figuring we'd return it for 5 dollars we could guiltlessly spend on FunYuns. Retrieving the keg we found that it was heavy. It was heavy because it was full of beer. Immediate validation. 

My endeavor may be for my selfish reasons or it could be altruistic. I won't know for sure until Richard Dawkins finishes his study of me. I hope it happens soon. I can't stand these Bonobos any longer. Sex as currency grows tiresome in the animal kingdom. Try as I might these apes just aren't into Loonies. Though my ultimate intentions are as murky as the current edition of the Edmund Fitzgerald (YEAH!!!!!!) I now know why I'm doing what I do. Because there's a chance I'll get a shit load of free beer. Keep it up and I'll end up with Archie. 

This keg got rolled into our home and the search for a tap began.  It caught our excitement for minutes bordering on ten before we were conjured back to ourselves to drown in our own shit. When we ran out of miracles and conversation, Egg Nog occurred to us. A friend, a brother, a blimp captain lives for the shit. He rests under a promotional poster and can't live the 9 months of the year when Nog just isn't feasible. He tried freezing it last year but frozen pizzas just don't allow enough room for a year round supply of anything. 

This year looks brighter though. We are inventing the invention of Keg Nog. He will have the supply he needs. I will have the excuse I need to drink and a reason to keep raking. Someone else will have something new to laugh about and talk about. There's hope for us yet.  

My Universe is looking damn bright right now. Does anyone have a tap?

***

Come free your mind

On this dick, that I have. 

- Lil' Wayne 

rule with an iron fist

just be sure not to quash anarchy

The Land of The Concussed

Be careful and wear a helmet. That's all I can say in this current state of things as I, Charlie Hoofing III, am privy to a concussion and have yet to effectively unscramble the remains of my brains. Knees aren't meant for heads, hats are. With this in mind it is ssafe to say I'm a little bit out of it. I'll be fine. I won't be meeting Archibald anytime soon.

I got sent home from class yesterday for stumbling around like an idiot and not remembering the idiosyncrasies of sound editing. Not that I would remember anything of sound editing. The people machines behind this line of work possess a certain splendor that hoists their field anove all others. I've seen sound ediutors put cancer, gangrene, and live births behind their final mix. This dedication is inspiring to some, to others it lets them know that a line of work is complete bull.

Try to do a good thing. While you do the deed rationalize it to the point that you are sure you are doing it for the right reasons. Now sit back and watch as a group with self absorption rivaling Bounty turn your good deed into a parking lot. It doesn't matter if it's good or beautiful. What matters is that you have a place to put your car. I don't think this is kidding or jest. I think this is a priority for the vast majority of car owners.

A Millionaire Land Owner came by this morning. I watched him out my window. When he was convinced no one was looking he stole my hose and put it in his car.

Things are a bit blurred and dizzifying but who doesn't need a change of pace once in while. I heard Steve Young found religion only after a vicious hit from one Bryant Young at the end of a grueling Halloween practice in 1996. I can't be sure about this though as all recorded histories before 1996 have been destroyed, possibly by the Dental Industry.

An Ice Cream parlour just called. They say they have my credit card. That's funny. I didn't realize Ice Cream parlors had phones. I spelled parloor two different ways on purpose. Make it three.

I should go watch the pigeons. I'm getting a short story on egg ng ready so be ready for it.

A Silent Hymn

I saw you.

Yes, I saw you, Man with a Chainsaw.

Oh, yes, yes, I did, after my initial horror and morbid thoughts, realize that there was no jagged cutting chain upon your saw. And yet, you (much like the rest of the train car) did not seem to care. Your eyes, in that weathered face (dare I cast thee as grizzled?),--a leathery and fantastic map of a face--your eyes cast about, shining with pride, and you could not hold back your spindly fingers from softly (ever so softly) touching (caressing) your Chainsaw.

A miniature Chainsaw, wielded by a maximum Man. A man who, no doubt, has seen things that I have never seen (nor, I am sure, do I want to see).

Who am I to judge? Who am I to cast aspersions and hold fears? For this man wears draped about him a cloak of aura, crafted from the exotic fabric of Vietnam (the 'Nam), Vincenzo (or Vinny, now dead), safety-orange hard hats, the world's largest and most painful splinter. This cloak is lined with straight shots of whiskey chased with a pack of Chesterfields, and probably also plaid.

The cloak is a metaphor, but it is also real, reaching across the car to poke a hard finger at my chest, making a straight-up "whatcha gonna do about it" challenge as old as cowboys. Yes, I was listening to The Carter II, and yes, I am a devastatingly handsome young lad who was once put on academic probation at Princeton, but the cloak, and its blue-collar Spartacus of an owner, merely gave a silent laugh, easily conveying the sentiment that hung close and heavy in the air around my hanging head:

Where was my chainsaw?

trill

shit that is

shit that aint

A NEW INVENTION... SCHMUCKS

Fairs with fan fair are for twerps and terps. I am neither so I don't go. Instead I stay at home whittling figurines of Presidents. Oak, birch, and cedar Lincolns dot the britches of my foyer. What is their use? I light my hookah off their lit crotches. Taft is the obvious choice for a hard light.

I believe this is a right and good thing for a human to do but it gets a bit FUCKING BORING. Fairs, I'm effectively blaming this all on you. Your ferris wheels are bland. Your fun house not fu n enough. To be blunt I'd rather hang at the terrorist jam. Ds anyone know of a good terrorist jam?

Fear not fairs. There is a way to recapture my attention and allocated token fund. I's my idea and I call it the "kissing hole".

Step 1: Get a hole
Step 2: Put a pair of lips in the hole.
Step 3: Charge fairgoers 25 cents to kiss the pair of lips.
Step 4: Using the aid of a caricature artist have the kisser describe the person they just kissed.
Step 5: Reveal the person who the lips belong to. (This works best if they are Yasmine Bleeth or not a person at all)

If this doesn't work. If my grand scheme fails to thrive in a way that no other notion has ever succeeded. If people don't pay to kiss the definition of "obtuse" or maybe "absurd'. If these things fail to be than I will move to Wisconsin and never fuck again. Don't get my wrong I'm an attractive beast but I have too many terrible things to say about Brett Favre. Best I can do is set up a kissing booth, dress up like a geisha, and wait for the Chairman.

I know there were fires and that people might have died but did this affect the price of avocados? I'm wearing all green and could really go for some guacamole.

I got a letter from Archie in rehab today. The letter said "I'm still addicted to Heroin."

A fruity feeling is never a good one.

If you keep up with the twisted bits of half literate drivel we like to call annals you are familiar with my dietary habits. I've thrown words on BIG MACS and TACOs without so much as expressing the sentiment that healthy food does, in fact, exist. 

I am not a monkey or vaudevillian (I AM NOT CALLING YOU OUT DARTMOUTH) slap stick artist. As it stands I have no use for bananas. They are far and away the most inconvenient food, which is saying something when one realizes that they come prepackaged. This opinion stands alone in the universe of thought and has no brother or sister notion. If you have one I will give you a banana for your efforts. 

I don't hate bananas. Preripe they are pretty tasty, and they are good for taunting monkeys at zoos that still allow taunting (Toledo Zoo of Toledo, Ohio). These two good things mitigate much of the scorn directed at this fruit when realizes that bananas don't really do anything.

 

FACT: BANANAS TURN BROWN AND BLACK WHEN PACKED IN LUNCHBAGS

School lunches are no longer a big deal in my current age. However, they blight an otherwise idyllic childhood with their stale excuses for elementary nutrition. Mom had her share of weird food related whims. I remember desserts that looked like tarantulas. I've had reviews of every ice cream parlor that has ever or will ever exist. This devotion to excellence didn't seep through paper thin walls. A typical lunch would be a cold piece of meatloaf and a rusty banana. I would immediately discard these pieces and go begging for bits of lunchables. Sons of rich Arabian Merchants would throw me crumbs while calling me "food man" with a chuckle. Did I mention I was a fat kid?

FACT: BANANAS ONLY MAKE ME HUNGRIER

Fruit has never satiated me. It is merely a dance of citrus or whatever non citrus fruits are called upon my tongue before disappearing with no efficacy whatsoever.  Note to food, if I eat you I want to know I've eaten you. I once rode a bus for fifteen hours. I had only bananas as my food companion. I also had a book. It was a good book and took my focus. Absentmindedly I ate eight bananas within an hour. My hunger was unaffected. I was still famished except now I had to be famished in the bathroom. 

FACT: BANANAS ONLY MAKE ME THIRSTIER

Lingering is unwelcome in almost any scenario. I once invited a homeless frisbee champion to come over for a round of drinks. He stayed on my couch for four days with no inkling of departure. he gave me a painting and left. The only relief was with his final exit. Bananas are the same way. They stick to any and all parts of the mandible for upwards of two hours. 

Let's play pretend. Let's pretend that you have been happily married to the love of your life for fifteen years. It is a vigorous relationship full of impromptu lovemaking and hiding notes in each other's pockets. Let's also say that you had a banana for breakfast. You kiss your lover good bye. Forty five minutes later, sitting in your office watching the window washers wash you get a call. The love of your life is dead. You cry the worst tears of your life. You take to the bottle and at 3am on so many nights you look back to that last beautiful moments. You can't get the taste of banana out of your mouth. Your love is now your banana. 

You don't want that do you? 

I once read Angela's Ashes in the back of a Probation Van. Frank McCourt doesn't seem to associate bananas with anything good. We are of the same mind in this because we are either both Irish or both in tune to the wickedness of this fruit. FUCK. He actually bitched about bananas in Tis.

I've eaten three bananas this morning. It might be a great day, but I doubt it. 

I must still say that I find banana room amazing.  

Dear Onlookers

Sergei, you're beginning to sound like the Swedish Chef without the charm, pots, or pans. The nicest thing I can say about you these days is that if you started a religion it would probably thrive because demons like you feast on idiots.

It's been a long weekend. i passed out in the road. Even worse, it was a one way street and i was facing the wrong way. I also learned that this is punishable by the rather sizable fine of fifty dollars.


Reading the short annals of this site the consensus seems to be that I'm becoming something of a villain. This is a dangerous designation and one I promise you'll soon come to look back at with at least a stupid smirk. Villains have utter freedom. Which is why Sergei loves Kobe (that and similar circles of friends). I used to feel pressure to add quality or at least post drunk but it seems you're asking me to post pictures of jigsaw puzzle pieces. Oi

Your confinement will lead to the development of a sense of personal control

I have not had a drink in about ten days. It has been quite the trying experience.

My rehabilitation has gone alright so far. The center is cozy, nestled some where in the hills of Los Angeles County, although I am not sure exactly where. Everyone seems nice. Especially Claire, the girl in the room next to mine. We have hit it off smashingly, although I have yet to convince her to slip off her underwear. There is still time though.

They reward us for our progress. I gained access to the library after three days of sobriety, television after the fifth, and the internet upon the tenth. This is why I have been gone for so long. I am allotted 30 minutes every three days. Though my time is limited, I hope to be more of a presence over the coming weeks.

I am still thirsty but things are improving and they could always be worse. I could still be with mummy. Thank heavens I am not.

Trust and belief,

AASXLIII

P.S. Dartmouth Minx, I do not approve of your methods of airing my personal laundry. I thought you of better character than that.

the bean

before getting into things, i thought it necessary to link to this. for those of you who dont know, freedarko is one of our godfathers. we have many. among them lil wayne and the inventor of cheese whiz.

next stop substance of my own creation.

unlike some of my hindenburgian brethren, im not from a fucked up city. well, maybe a little bit fucked up, but not in comparisson to detroit. instead, I am from Los Angeles.

because of this my basketball rooting interest rests with none other than the precocious Los Angeles Lakers. the Lakers are a team that has treated me well, but as recent events (ie anything involving the black mamba) have shown the here and the now is bleak. yet for some reason i find myself more excited about this nba season than i have ever been before.

maybe part of me still has hope that kobe and lamar will learn to coexist and create aesthetically beauty. maybe part of me hope that if my nightmares comes true and kobe leaves the Lakers will get something worthwhile in return (i would be mildly happy were gilbert or stoudemire to be come the new face of showtime). or maybe part of me is just glad that my fourth favorite team is back, and regardless of how they fare will distract me from the atrociousness of professional football. whatever the case may be im excited. it maybe he short lived but whatevs.

oh and as for that potential trade hanging out in the corner, no trade clause or not, i dont think kobes holding all the cards. the lakers have a more important factor on their side. time. kobe cant opt out until the season after next, and really will someone so aware of his place in the echelon of basketball history tank two of his remaining prime season forcing the team to trade him. hate to say it to all you kittie kats in chicago, i just dont see it happening. the lakers will return to being a quality team before the trade him for shit.

i hope.

Happy Birthday Detroit

A few years back when I was still several steps above being a sperm (read: 16) my hometown, the humble abode of Detroit turned 300 years old. Before this fact I was blissfully unaware of birthday's for inanimate objects or entities. This is not the case today. I am contemplating a birthday party for a friend's Volvo as soon as i befriend someone with a Volvo. I was friends with a Volvo driver once but they REALLY didn't deserve it.

This Detroit birthday was significant because it marked the city's survival of race riots, Piston championships, and the exodus of Gordy's Empire. Such a celebration of survival and MidWestern Urban Grit warranted something special. A big cake could have been in order. Instead, the city of Detroit had tall ships come sailing down the river to commemorate it's birth. One of these ships had a Pirate Flag on it. This was the sorriest excuse for a celebration I have ever seen in my entire life. At the very least I would hope that the city held an Erase Riot, though I have no idea what that entails.

These boats seemed so misguided, oblivious to every want and whim of the City folk that a part of me immediately died. From that moment on I was no longer willing to buy in to being sold. I wasn't even willing to buy into what was being given away for free. Of course this would have been different if I had made Stevie Wonder's free concert. This is biased too, at that juncture Stevie Wonder stood for everything right with the world. I spent a bit too much time thinking about blind people when i was young.

What does the City of Detroit have to do with us? This twisted path is marked with milestones, chance encounters, and debacles that shape and service the way we go. I've had my share of bumps and trophies and I try to ignore every one.

The thought process of "I did this, I am now a better person, what does this person consist of?" leads to things like the tall Ships of Detroit. If I mark occasions they will have nothing to do with me. They'll probably be for my Mom and I could very well end up looking all rasta. With that being said the Victory Cigar is officially retired. This isn't to say that the Human Victory Cigar is retired. I wish him the best of luck in Memphis.

From this point on I will masquerade of a dress maker. I will fill my room with mannequins clad in exquisite dresses. When I get a girl, or two girls, I will tell them that I am a dress maker. After they love me (which they will), I will produce my first dress for the apple of my eye. The dress will be an ensemble so atrocious and hideous that I'll put it on a crucifix and no one will notice. The girl will put on the dress and wear it with pride. I don't need Tall Ships to tell me who I am.

15 dump trucks full of dirt are coming in my vacant lot tomorrow to make the world a better place and officially make me a felon. I seriously doubt I will be brought up on charges until my section of the world I don't own is filled with turtles.

There's a lot I deplore and love in the same things. There's a part of me that appreciates the tall ships. There's a part of me that wishes Tyler Perry could win an Oscar. There's a part of me that has poor penmanship. Hatred doesn't come from disgust for me. It comes from something missing the mark.

Today I bought stuffing at the grocery store. Next time I feel but a dollop of depression I will eat it alone in my underwear will watching Frank TV on TBS. We Know Funny. If you've got it, flaunt it.

Sail on, you tall stupid bastards.

potentialities at their finest

fearful masses,

fret not your pretty heads, we at bring back the hindenburg, will soon be back. last i heard charlie, minxie, and the freshly unshackled agent a-rod, were walking library to library in search of candy. as for myself, im currently writing my own version of bellow's the adventures of augie march (without ever having read it), reading japanese teenage girl comics, and dreaming of jamaican style dance halls in good ol london. obvs were kinda busy, but soon, soon we will roar back triumphantly. i wouldnt be suprised if its sometime tomorrow.

things to look forward to, the death of escapism and the beginning stages of the great american novel starring the x-men. its been rumored for ages, but now its starting become a muthafuckin reality. ree-al-i-tay!!!