So, it�s now September 11th again. Let me observe a moment of silence or something like that.

If my calculations are accurate, I�ve smoked about 11,000 cigarettes since then. I�ve been drunk, I mean DRUNK about 10 times since then, and I�ve been high on THC 4250 times since then. Mick Jagger has probably eaten 50 pounds of cavier, and Sting has fucked his wife for a total of 75,000 hours (in 20 tantric sessions) since then. Sting has fucked his wife more times, or rather �logged hours� on the intercourse/penetration chart longer than 500 teenage boys combined have in 2 weeks. In the past year I have traveled to at least 6 different states in the United States of America. I don�t want them to show the footage of the airplanes. I want to fly on an airplane again someday. In the past year though. In the past 365 days, I have met at least 4 musical idols of mine. Not just your run of the mill fuckhead drummer from the local hardcore band. Ribot. I got to meet that man, my all time favorite guitar player, after the obligatory Jimi Hendrixes and Grant Greens and Django Reinhardts. Ribot played with Elvis Costello, Solomon Burke, oh, and Tom Waits. If I could recommend anything I would recommend his 2 records (particularly the first) under Marc Ribot y Los Cubanos Postizos. In the past year I have watched Annie Hall 12 times. In the past 365 days, George W Bush has used the word �towel-head� to his wife at least 50 times in the privacy of the White House. I�ve been arrested zero times in the past year. I worked at an airport for a total of about 29 hours in the past 365 days. In the last year, I�ve had 750 orgasms. I cooked eggs for breakfast still. After all of this time, fuck, the tragedy we all saw, I still pushed on with the classic breakfasts on the weekends, and on those days I stayed home from work because I felt like driving my bicycle into the Empire State Building. My band has �broken up� once, almost twice in the past year, yet music has always conquered, and risen above anything remotely resembling �bullshit� going on in and around the daily newspapers that report on our daily existences. I�ve met boys and girls on Diaryland that have been friendly, and then quickly disappeared. I�ve been accused of being homophobic twice in the past year, yet shaken the hands of at least 5 �gay men� in the past year, and laughed at their jokes, as they laughed at mine. I have not eaten turkey breast in the past year, and it�s doubtful I will again. I did not drink Gin, wait, I did not drink Southern Comfort once in the past year. Maybe I did get drunk more than what I originally stated though. I did not get to sleep with Halle Berry in the past 365 days. I�ve pissed off at least 7 people in the past year, 5 of them women. I�ve felt guilty that I was a white person at least 20 times in the past 365 days. I wrote 25 pages about one person and then deleted it at least once in the past year. I�ve gotten about 1600 hours of sleep in the past year, the old man down stairs got 3000. I�ve thought about not living zero times in the past year. The only reason I�ve been here almost every day for the past 365 days is because of that solo in �Potato Head Blues� by Louis Armstrong.

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George Bush can suck my cock tomorrow when he gets up on that stage wherever the fuck he will be. Rupolph Gulliani can take it over when George is done.

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It�s almost 2AM, so I think I may watch Rosemary�s Baby before I end this evening. I need a little scariness in my life. Stability every day is a rough thing to deal with. Anyone know the way to San Jose?

before & after