i wonder sometimes if i’m that kind of trainwreck in an otherwise pretty picture. like the camera on my life is showing a relatively interesting and uplifting story but it’s doing so at the same time that it’s revealing me to be unaware of how utterly clueless and ineffective i am.
the world around here is grey and dirty, and i wish it would just snow already. it’s getting to the point at which i think everyone has just forgotten that snow never came, but since santa did come it seems as if, well, there must have been some snow, right?
no. winter has been one long cold half-assed grey blur and now our city looks like someone sneezed near the ash tray and covered everyone’s shit in cigarette refuse.
i need to see a rock show that will make me pull my hair out because it’s so good. i need it to be small and intimate and honest and not fucking grey.
it should smell like ether and sweat with majesty and taste like it was aged in oak barrels, like an 18 year old glenfiddich.