Long day so far. So after an unsuccessful attempt to entertain my self with the outside world, I have decided to retire my misanthropic ass home for the evening. What the hell is out there for me tonight anyway? The girl I�d want to be spending the night with is away, all other friends are out shopping or drinking or maybe both, who knows. I know one thing, I�ve now become the guy that doesn�t get phone calls on the weekend anymore anyway. That space is reserved for younger �boys� and girls who have far much more to offer than I perhaps. So I�m reduced to smoking the remnants of a joint from four days ago, drink this fourth cup of coffee, and check out the DVD�s to see what piques my interest for the night. I�m thinking either Army of Darkness, or Annie Hall, not sure yet�So in trying to find a reason why I�ve been a little bit of a grump the past week or so, I�ve come up with a good reason, that�s obvious. The band. I can�t fucking remember when the last time we practiced was! There was a fire in the building we rehearse in and it�s been closed for remodeling for three weeks now at least. The worst thing about this is the fact that my Gibson is (hopefully) just sitting in there�.I do have these three other guitars also though, and I have my eyes on one I�m going to get right after Christmas actually, as a gift to myself for �not getting killed� for thirty one years. What better reason could you need? Anyway, I�ve written a slew of new songs, or rather, ideas, and started my personal project, which is to learn all of Neil Young�s Harvest record on guitar, I know about half of it so far, as well as a good handful of other songs of his. The band was going to record next month, hopefully that can still happen, as I feel the need to put this shit on tape now.

Jennifer Gookin kissed me on her back porch one night. It was 1983 I guess. I can still remember exactly what she was wearing, one of those strapless thing, maybe called a �tube-top� or something like that, it was purple, she was also wearing those white shorts all women seemed to wear from 1981- 1988, sort of dressy looking, not too tight. It was a very hot August night, and her Selectman dad was out for the night. This was the first time I really kissed a girl for a long period of time. She broke up with me for the son of a fireman. The only Jennifer I was ever with.

I want to travel out of here again. Soon, I want to do this. I could go get laid tonight, but I want to travel. I want to drive the car real far. I said I would, and everyone else deserted me instead. I always feel deserted nowadays. Like people need to find out if there�s something better going on first, and then if not, they�ll call me. We�ll just see if I spare them on the shooting spree. Heh. A while back I was looking for something like mad, like a blind detective. Thinking I was looking for something I needed. The second I got it, I realized it was nothing I needed. Girls with brand new clothes on every time you see them. Bad kisses that tasted of Budweiser and a case of black tongue. Come on honey, tell me I�m worthy, you know I really do believe everything you say. You know I really am interested in what you have to say, it�s not just that chest of yours that I�m looking at. I�m thinking, yeah, you make me think. You make me smart. So you realize on days like this that you really don�t need your friends to entertain you. Breaux had some good things to say about friendship in his diary the other day actually. It�s funny, but I think we both have the same thoughts about people in general. I go in and out though. Most of the time, I can do without being around people, or talking to them here and there. Then some days I like it. I know one thing, the holiday season doesn�t do anything for me. I have no desire to sit around with family and talk shit for a few hours, and eat something as wretched as turkey. Bletch�and now Christmas comes next. Again, people feel like they have to buy gifts for each other. I�ll take all the gifts people give to me, sure. But I still only buy three gifts every year. The other gifts are usually just things I had laying around the house, those go to friends and others who pressure me into thinking I need to give them something because they did the same. I was going to make a bunch of mix CD�s and give them to people this year, but the process is usually pretty long and tedious, so I think I�ll pass thanks. Yeah, I need to get away from here. I have no ties here right now, as much as I want to have ties here, I just don�t. People here all have attitudes, worse than mine even. Just a vacation I guess. I try and make plans here and there, but it always fails. Everyone is happy in their little worlds. I look at the first half of this year as a complete waste of time. Going out to the bars and getting drunk, feeling like shit, feeling like a robot. Getting pulled into that lifestyle for one reason, the same reason everyone else does it I guess. I can�t say I ever feel in place when I�m out and about. The rehearsal room is the only place I want to be now. Breaux and I discussed going there four nights a week when they reopen to play. I can�t think of one other thing I�d rather pass the time doing.

When the phone rings now, it makes me jump a little bit. Something and someone is out to get me all the time. Constantly I�m followed by ghosts or evil people with weapons. Don�t call me paranoid. I have a right to be paranoid. There are men and women out there that want to destroy me. I have things they want apparently. I have some sort of gift I need to give them to get off my back. They come in the form of women bearing gifts. They come in the form of acquaintances that pretend they�re interested in my life. They come in the form of empty promises, and girls who put me on the backup team. They come in the form of guys I would not care to know if it weren�t for people telling me �you�d really like him, he�s just like you�. They come in the form of girls showing up in my life from time to time, tempting me with fruits, while their brains� work like vegetables. Come on, come down this path with me. The gifts they bring, fuck the gifts. All the time the gifts are just empty boxes with gorgeous wrapping paper. They bear gifts these women. They don�t warn me. They show up in my life and piss me off. They invite me out to parties and social gatherings when they know damn well how I feel. Actually, no, they don�t listen to a fucking word I say, so how are they going to know how I feel. I feel dark and desperate right now. I feel like jumping up and down in front of a storefront window. I feel like breaking someone�s ritual. I feel like disrupting them, like they disrupt me. I feel like they at least owe me some attention. What is this, all about them? It�s never about me. They put me on hold and when the boy with the skateboard and pierced cock can�t come out to play, they call the boring old man who will buy them rings and necklaces if they can sit there and complain to them for three or four hours. Who the fuck do they think they�re dealing with? Who are these women and the gifts they bring. Part of the network, all of them. I know this, as they follow me around, yet know nothing about me. They pretend things. They are children. Teenagers and twenty-something�s. They know everything about everything. Did you know that when you are in your twenties, you are correct all the time? Did you know you�re all grown up when you can drink Ted Kennedy under the table and still recite your homelands� national anthem. Watch as I break myself in two in front of them, and they don�t flinch. Watch as I fuck their girlfriends. That�s all I ever want. I love when women cheat on their boyfriends with me, especially when it�s your friends girlfriend. Oh the glory. The big payback they call it. James Brown said it was the Big Payback. I lost money on three bets this week. One was about a guy at work, one was about a girl at the coffee shop, and the other was about the man in front of me at the grocery store last night. Why did I have to go through that kind of thing? Why do I have to deal with this? They get to suck and fuck and snort and swallow and smoke, while I spit up poison and vinegar all over the floor, only to be looked at as a joke from close up? I stung three people this year. I don�t see any of these people anymore; I didn�t know them before, and I don�t know them now, so it doesn�t make much of a difference. Not stung in a bad way, and not stung in a sexual way as that�s what that sounds like. They laugh. I laugh. I guess we all go home satisfied, right? No. I never go home satisfied. I always have this trap to fall in. There�s one more thing you need to take care of. I am not complete tonight. I�m not in this room right now. I�m not waiting by the telephone. I just want what I wanted the night before, and the night before. I hate it when they just show up and open their wallets for you to look in, and then disappear for weeks at a time. They have no clue what they are getting into, and I don�t either, they act all above me. They act. This fucking network of them. This fucking network. Here�s an idea, let�s maybe all get together and talk about how good it feels to fall down the stairs every night. Let's just sit around and die together. All of us. Let�s all meet next weekend, and make a deal. We�ll make a deal nobody can refuse. Once we are through, I�ll explain all of this to anyone who finally cares to listen to me. I�ll finally come outside and breathe with a different kind of person. I guess there are reasons I come home at 10pm on a Friday evening nowadays. So I can dump out the ashtrays that litter the room. So I can lift the weights. Live contradictions. Live them live in person. Lift weights, smoke a cigarette, go to sleep. Fall in love for twenty minutes. Read bibles from all over the world. The word of the lord. Play chess. There are lots of activities for me to do. My best friend right now is the floor. Look at it. So romantic. Not a trace of wood anywhere in here. Small little groups of ideas nestled about, waiting for execution. And yes again, THEY are all useless to me.

before & after