my guitar must have a lucid reason for attempting life what is life? my guitar cautions me that it’s this extremely vulnerable happenstance existing like disease in an already sick reality my guitar tells me to stare out my window trying to will the ugliness into something beautiful and worth living for my guitar reminds…

I might have a line-up solidified.  Things might be looking up.  I ate some dogshit this weekend.  I had ice cream on Friday, a chocolate bar last night and some Timbits today.  This is a dangerous game. I love music.

I’m still struggling with my mental health in a big way.  But I think I’m winning.  Exercise diet fucking,  Blah blah blah. Putting a band together is hell.  No one will ever be good enough.  I don’t know how a guy like Anton Newcombe can put together a 15+ piece band being the epic asshole…