...a playmate that I've slept with."
These flags are for hatecrimes. It took me a long time to find the sign that told me that.
So February is in its death throes, and another weekend's gone fast and arguably wasted. The more I do what I should, the worse I hurt. This weekend I was on my feet for hours and hours at a time, and I drank more in two nights than I had prior to that all year. So much for clean livin'.
I learned a lot about the butthole surfers, and though I recall not liking much that I learned, I find myself listening to them even now. I also remembered the Sixths today, though, and I can't find it in my heart or my brain to say that I'm enjoying the surfers more than the sixths.
I worry that I don't make any sense a lot of the time.
Spring break is coming, and I will use it to work. I will intend to use it to talk about guerilla asheville with Jack and to make my fourtrack earn it's keep with Malcolm and Laura Marie and Louise and Pete and anyone else willing to make some noise and to clean the room that will be mine and to... probably do a lot of things... but I will not make those promises, because that'll just be one more thing I beat myself up for in two weeks time.
MUSIC: the sixths: in the city in the rain (w/ Lou Barlow)