dang, I've got rheumetism in my condition. i definitely need a sponge bath

i've decided to follow spaghetti.
it is the right way to do things.
not the wrong way.
i am so hungry, i could eat a landscape.
paste my face on the magazine, the silver screen, looking good let's preen, be seen in the scene, so lean and mean, can't you see where i've been?

god, i wish i were a ice capped mountaintop with sugar on it.
my eyebrow rules.
but only the one.

i do not have a monobrow.
however, i do have toes.

quirky letter writing is the best way to suppress jell-o pudding pop mania.
my dog's bigger than your dog.

i used to throw rocks at kids.

i know why the uncaged bird howls.
like ginsberg's howl.
i also know why i don't pay attention to lyrics in songs initially.
but that will have to come when i'm not tuckered out and wanting milk of magnesia next to my bed.

because remember, a doctor's bedside manner is just another form of hypnosis.

i like derrick, not derek, nor the dominoes.
tantric bears are better than spoiled pears. that's what i think.

nobody with a cleft chin ever wins at marbles.

eat blackened chargrilled bean curd,

hatred, glee and potpourri

Denny McClain

cactus sighing

so i've been singing it wrong the whole damn time.
it's "planet earth is bluuuuue and there's nothing i can doooooo."
whoops.
i stink so much.

on a related note, people often tell me i remind them of maya angelou, which is understandable.
mandible.
pupple.
popple.

Jay. T. Tempura had a sensational set last night at Club Deluxe. Shame on everyone who didnt' make it. he was on fire, literally.
his ashes are with the Lord now.
his soul is with me.

eat children.

moody love and faithless like,

Bun E. Carlos

plunging into the depths of harrison ford's helmet hair

it feels like fucking winter in the midwest here.
san francisco actually got snow yesterday!! how can this happen?? i am dismayed and frightened. literally, i am unraveling. literally, i am lord.

i've got two songs in my head now:
"my vulva is singing" by the sisters of perpetual indulgence

"space oddity" by the langley school project. haven't heard of the langley school project? kids from the 70s in british columbia recorded in a gym by their music teacher singing popular mainstream hits of the day...very bizarre and eerie, yet fun fun fun too.

can you hear me major tom? can you heeeeaaarrr?
planet earth is new and there's nothing i can doooo..

i hate it when there's too much cream cheese caked on my bagel. i'm the type that prefers a more conservative layer.
and that's one of the few times you could use the word "conservative" and "tim pratt" in the same sentence. not that i actually used tim pratt in the sentence but you get the idea.

walking in the mission last night felt like "taxi driver." that's the only thing i kept thinking of as i walked next to the dopers, pushers, hookers, and scum of the streets. that's what i saw.
along with a few street rats and yesterday morning the biggest cockroach i've ever seen. i mean sure, there are bigger cockroaches in south america but i'm not in south america.
fudge.

planet earth is new and there's nothing i can dooooooo.

hell, one of my fave memories of the 21st to 16th walk at 11:30 p.m. on a cold monday evening was seeing two very nervous yuppies dragging their luggage behind them as fast as they could while nervously glancing behind them...of course, they had reason to glance as there were two shady looking hispanic fellows following close behind them, walking really fast to keep up. they looked like they wanted to rob 'em, though i'm betting they were just trying to scare them. i didn't stop to check.
curiously, i rarely get fucked with by people (knock on proverbial wood). i just look mean and hard and stare straight ahead and don't let anyone catch my eye nor do i get phased by anybody. shady people that want to rob you can sense nervousness, much like a dog can. and i've been bitten by a dog more than once, so i should know (i was a paperboy for christ's sake).

can you hear me major tom? can you hear me major tom?

back to the cream cheese: fuck, it's so hard to do anything when you've got this much cream cheese on your bagel. damn man. gets all over your fingers and stuff. i just was forced to lick off a finger tip due to extraneous cc. such a bummer. i don't think i can make it. i don't think i can go on.

here's something i might do for the next Jay T. Tempura gig (there's one tonight...whoooo, at club deluxe on haight at 8. don't be late! don't praya hate) i thought of having people quoted, talking about how wonderful jay t. is. thing is, all of the people will be named tim pratt...see there's tons of tim pratts out there and i'll use as many as possible with photos, saying things like "i had elephantitus of the liver, bunions, and gangrene, but after going to see jay T. perform, i was cured. god bless jay t. tempura!" or "no words can accurately describe the love i got from jay t. he's so real!" you get the idea. fun and games for pants-wearing folk.

a second thing i'm going to do somewhere..(maybe in my daily updates at my advertising job i'm currently doing) is do a combined horoscope for all signs. make it incredibly vague, something that everyone would do. like "you will read something of importance today. remember that. and write it down." in fact, here is the horoscope i just wrote for today:

CONSOLIDATED HOROSCOPE - All signs included (saving time and space while reading your personal astrology chart)
Tuesday, January 29 - You will likely read something of some importance today that you'll need to either write down or commit to memory. It's best to look your best because looking your worst is worse. You may experience a slight headache for 10 to 20 minutes in the next 24 hours. It might be best to lie down and think about your previous headaches. Also, try to avoid drinking that third cup of coffee like your co-workers want you to do. Instead, reach for Sanka.

i was just recommended to check out a coffeehouse called "oh so little," named after a cat. anybody that names their coffeehouse after a cat named "oh so little" deserves a fighting chance. it's at 233 14th st., at Natoma...not exactly sure where that is. hmmm. 554-0934. see i keep this here because now i won't lose it. i have a tendency to write things down on little pieces of paper and then expect my later self to: a. remember where i put them; b. understand what i was talking about; c. decipher my scribbling; d. eat tuna fish.
and i do none of these things, yet present tense tim can't seem to remember to help out Later Tim or Tomorrow Tim. makes me mad. fucker.

am i sitting in a tin can? faaaarrrrrr above the world....
planet earth is new and there's nothing i can dooooo...

sax solo~~~~~~~

i really cannot stand dick cheney. what an arrogant dick. "i'm not going to turn over my private papers about enron. they didn't have anything to do with the energy policy of this administration." yeah and i'm not a procrastinator. fuck you sidemouth talker. ashcroft, cheney, bush...they should all rot. pigs.

try to use the word "messianic" as much as you can today. sure, it's not as much fun as calling people "chopper," but your coworkers will enjoy making fun of your vocabulary. and at that point, it gives you reason to "accidentally" chop off 1-4 fingers of your arch-enemy at work. you can be like "ooops, how non-messianic of me." see how lovely that word sounds now?

sometimes, dead is bettah.

eat urinal cake juice.

hate, tanks and corporate sponsorships,

Clandestine Cleo

i sing the bodice electric

i am so down with my new electric toothbrush.
it cleans quite thoroughly.
i must say.
my mouth is thanking me for it, day by day.
a wondrous invention for the people.
and since i am people, it really helps me.

continuation of party search: last you knew, i was getting the scoop as far as where to go find this super secret party in which i had to ask a guy in a wheelchair on the corner of 5th and mission where this event was happening. he tells me to go down a block and ask another guy.
wheelchair guy says that i need a password to talk to the second dude. the password? "froggy."
no joke.
froggy.
what the hell? and this password only lasts for 10 more minutes, then a new one emerges. so i had to skedaddle to make it. not really, but i felt like i was on some covert operation.
anyway, i walk up the block to market street and there is the dude wearing the black SF giants hat (i said 49ers before...i was wrong).
so i go up to him and say "froggy" while he's being harassed by some homeless dude and he brightens right up and says "ok, cool. you see those bank of america ATMs over there?" he points to the corner of powell and market, where the trolley car turnaround is...tourist central. but this was late at night.
"yeah, i see them."
ok, you're going to have to head toward them and then make a left onto powell.
"ok."
then, go to the door next to burger king and there should be a guy standing there.

of course, the dude is standing there (wearing one of those hipster cowboy hats, no less) and simply opens the door for me without saying a word. next to burger king...yeah!
up the stairs i go, to the top, where i'm greeted by a bunch of normal looking people crowded around a small bar (this was after 2 am. mind you) waiting for drinks. house music bumped in the background.
the blonde woman wearing black rimmed glasses gives me a smile and says "we're asking for a $20 donation, but it's open bar till 5."
till 5 am? jeez, would i drink $20 worth? and is this crowd worth it? i quickly scanned the room and almost immediately realized this was not my scene.
and you know it was totally illegal.
the whole thing was quite funny.
so i simply shook my head and said "no thanks" and walked back downstairs.
the woman yells down to me "ok, well have a good night then" in a very condescending tone, as if i were a COMPLETE IDIOT for turning down such an awesome good time.

instead, i headed over to dna lounge on 11th street, where i could get in for free with my fancy schmantzy qool qard (usually used for wednesday nights at 111 minna). so i go there and hook up with brien my roomie and that's when i realize what exactly is up on the stage.
on one side is the he-man guy with long hair in two braids on each side of his head, kind of reminding me of an native american do. he's shirtless, playing the electric guitar sometimes, pumping his fist sometimes, and looking like a complete ass. on the other side, was another dork banging on a tiny drum kit along with the thumping house music.
the more they played the more i realized the horror of it all.
calling themselves "memory man," i come to learn that these twerps are essentially billing themselves as a "live act." yeah, real live.
i go up stairs to see the dj spinning records, tweaking the highs and lows like so many djs do, and giving the occasional nod to his cohorts on the stage below.
my god, i couldn't believe the guitarist...thinking he was some uber rock guitarist playing the most extraordinary licks...when he was reminding me of poison's cc deville or kip winger.
what a dolt.
i seriously couldn't believe how awful it was.
not only did the flailing electric guitar solos not gel with the music, the tracks mr dj was throwing down were ultra-old...i heard two from 94 or earlier...and i knew this because i owned the mix cds they were on.
sort of reminds me of the fools that attempt to bring along their wack ass bongos with them to the latest DJ event. come on hippies, give it up. please fuck off.
so after enduring the horror for a good 10 minutes or so, i quickly decided to move on to the stud, where my friend marc works the door.
good dj...yeah this guy lewis was ripping it up. amazingly good dj actually. i was way impressed.
...crowd...well, hmmm, not bad, though the later i was there, the less straight it was. which is no problem to me. if it were a problem, i wouldn't have been there.
unfortunately, peeps started getting a bit too aggressive on my ass (literally) and then when two fellows began pelting me in the back of the head with ice and some sort of wet paper object, i knew it was my time to retreat.

so i finally rolled on home at around 3:30 or so.
oh yeah...forgot to mention the earlier event i went to...the kid606 with gold chains and other kooky idm folk playing tongue-in-cheek hip-hop or something.
of course it was pretentious, but good pretentious fun nonetheless.
the best aspect of the evening was the sloooowwwww as fuck bar keeps.
the ol' peacock is run by this older black couple, along with what i'm guessing are their offspring and/or relatives working the door and such.
the drinks were extremely cheap, though the selection was hilariously limited (three beers).
and the best part of it was how they all moved at snail speed. the woman, especially.
myself and this gentleman next to me decided to consolidate our order because we had already been standing there a good 10 minutes and it wasn't even busy.
they were very thorough, but so much so...they were wiping off drips from the side of the glass, picking just the right napkin for the drink, as well as stirrer...it was quite an ordeal...
i was thinking that next time i go, i'm ordering two drinks at the same time.
other funny part was that the older man decided the evening was over at 1:15...switching all the lights on while people were still playing on stage in the other room.
you could hear the dudes yelling "turn the lights off!" but instead, the old guy brightened them all up.
the second room looked like a cross between a funeral parlor, bill knapps restuarant, and an old community hall in need of some repair.
gaudy it was.
yes, quite the interesting place, the peacock.
indeed.

this weekend was just as scintillating, veering wildly in crowd.
but that's another story....

eat pasty wedgecream.
intense saturated love and conditional objects without reward.

sweaty tadpin

pork and ham chowder looks good in the summer

is the word rad out of date? or is it back in, like ghetto blasters are back in?
i wonder...
today i heard a fellow use the word rad in random conversation and i got to thinking, now there's a word that i was recently thinking about and i don't really know if it's a good thing or a bad thing.
as in, is it non-hip to use it?
or is it hip to use it?
i cannot tell. damn you all to hell and then some.

so of late, i have been not feeling so uppity on the writing tip. i've already spoken about it, but i feel the need to express that idea again. but fuckpig banana, i need to do this. i need to keep on keepin on.
shit and fuck and damn and hell and all those other words that bible thumpers tell us are bad bad bad.

yeah yeah yeah. i don't give a damn about vietnam.
people often tell me i am the human personification of booty bass.
but those people could after all be wrong.
damn them.
fuck them
hell, do something.
right?
charlie says "love my good and plenty"

i have money in my wallet. guess how much?
guess! damn you guess guess guess guess.

fuckpig.
ok, you don't have to guess.
$120 --- whooooo!
yea, i'm rich. i'm famous.

so the hot new thing in LA these days is free winona shirts. i want one.
even though i already have a "free robert downey jr." t-shirt.
i rule and stuff.

everytime i look at puppets, i start to feel gross. what have those puppets been doing? and why are they doing it?
and who do they think they are, those puppets?
they don't know me? why should they care about what i have to say?
or do? or anything?
it's all a bunch of nonsense and hooeee.
or patchouli. and i probably didn't spell that right.
ok, i just went back and now i think it's right.

stream of consciousness for your oven baked goods.
speaking of ovens, last night i hung for about 7 minutes with Miranda. She has a 3 month old baby named jasper. that baby is damn cute.
and in case you were wondering, jasper is a girl.
a gal.
a lady.
something.
babies are always cute, i realize this. ok, some babies are in fact ugly but nobody ever actually says "damn, that baby is fucking ugly!"
i mean, i'd like to say that many times but i don't.
if i had my druthers....
what the hell does "if i had my druthers" actually mean?
after all, i just used.

i think it means "if i had things my way" or "if i ran the earth" or "god doesn't have shit on me. i'm going to coldcock his ass on a plate of rice and sushi"

one of those things.
actually, i should have referred to god as "His" because jesus stuff should always be capitalized.

i just saw the cover of the new vanity fair magazine.
not that i ever actually read vanity fair.
but bushy and his cronies (colin powell, dick cheney and not from "an undisclosed location" and talking out tha side his mouth and shit).
basically, it's a photo essay on da faux prez and his boobs hanging with him.
best pic of the bunch has to be a super tight shot of bush himself, in black and white.
so bizarre, this photo.
besides seeing all the lines in his face (he looks remarkably well for, shit how old is he...56?), one thing really stood out: his monobrow.
yep, he has a monobrow. not super distinct, but definitely there.
a good makeup job in the chair does wonders for hiding the thing, but it is most certainly there.
seems as though he gets his nose hairs trimmed though, because i didn't see any strays sticking out.
me, i just yank the fuckers out with tweezers (i love the word "twee" - i need to use that more in conversation or something) or even better, with my toes.
but that can be difficult.

the fire engines in san francisco are really loud. like LOUD LOUD LOUD.
and my hearing is not as good as it was yesterday, which is a long time ago in dog years.
much like dog eared books.
but that's another melody.
i actually have to cover my ears when the damn things rol by, which is often downtown. apparently, there are a Hell of a lot of people lighting themselves on fire these days.
or maybe it's spontaneous combustion.
you can never tell.
i knew a man once who spontaneously combusted and then came back.
he reformed his ashes together, unlike arthur ashe, though he looked a little funny second time around.

remember that movie "once around?" i think it starred richard dreyfuss.
you don't? i just remember the title.

as if on cue, the fucking fire engines are rolling by as i type this. yeah yeah yeah!!! whhhhhhhhoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
grumpa.

as i was saying, back to the matter at hand, before i was rudely interrupted, back in the day i used to smoke kind now i rock rhymes go around the globe.
once around...bad film, even though i don't remember a goddamn thing other than the title.

funny thing, for some odd reason (ok, everything happens for an odd reason in the world of tim pratt but shut up)
i always remembered some lame ass movie with meg ryan and fuck, it was some sort of time travel movie or about something hanging with old people and exchanging bodies or something like that...anyway...the old man was asked one thing he would have told his younger self and he said "floss."
ever since i saw that, i've remembered it.
and that's one reason why i've become so obsessive about flossing.

although now i have an electric toothbrush and so it's getting even more teeth gunk off.
i love that shit. easy to brush with an electric kind.
and it cleans my teeth better.
see, isn't dental talk so much fun yo?

ok, now i have to find out the name of the movie.
it's on the tip of my headlamp....

"prelude to a kiss"
yesssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

thank you All Movie Guide.
you rule the land.
i knew i was right.
1992 film starring gal pal meg ryan and alec baldwin.
according to this, meg was born in November 1961.
in fairfield, Conn.
so, meg is .....41.
for some reason, she seems older than that.
doesn't it seem like she's been around for a super long time?
hmmmm, i'll have to think about this some more.
dammit.

oh so i gotta run real quicklike but i hope to continue our conversation later frankenfurter.

but i gotta tell you this fuckstains.
so saturday, in a long night of shitty music (wait till you hear about memory man..oh MY GOD! aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaggggghhhh!)
christ.
but that's another story, jesus boy.
as me was sayin'
my pal amy sarver sent me an email about some party in which you go ask this dude on the corner of 5th and mission sitting in a wheel chair where this party is.
i was right by 5th and mission earlier in the evening with mr. rolls, but didn't stop then.
that was before we went to see kid666 and his flunkies at peacock lounge (a real gem of a bar, if you ask small people wearing goggles and shoehorns around their waist).
later on that shit.
so i go back later on and ask the dude on corner in the wheelchair (he wasn't actually disabled...just sitting in a chair that's mobile, see?...well here's the actual conversation.
"where's this party, yo?
"shit man, fuck. how we do. glung. uncle. ok, here's what you do....you go up a block to market and 5th and find the dude wearing the black SF 49ers hat and...

ok pigs, longer letter later.

juice pill


activity, for heaven's sake
part deux
9:27 p.m.

alright, ok, feeling fine, 909.
fudge and stuff.
fudge is a fun word to say, don't you think?
i think so.
say it for me one time "FUDGE!!!!"
ok,
again.
FUDGE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
alright, alright.

i'm cool. s'all good.
elaine would be upset about my extraordinary overindulgence of the exclamation points.
yes. fortunately, she is a fictional character.
therefore, i'm clean.

so, you want to know what happened?
ok.
first, important developments have been made in the field of technological warfare.
but that's not really all that important.
second,
i had a healthy and satisfying walk down Geary street this fine evening.
wasn't so cold as to feel like you want to stay in your nice warm bed all day with the heater blasting in your face and cuddly purring kitties on each side of you.
so i was, pleased.

yes, activity.
quite a thing.
that's what i like.
the constant.
nonstop.
people doing stuff.
all around you.
everybody's got their own agenda.
their own thing.
you may cross paths with that person again.

especially here. as in, here here. where we live.
where i live.

yeah.
right, or you may not encounter that person, that fellow human being, ever again in your lifetime.
that person you talked to tonight,

awright....enough with the melodramatics.
right?
fuck.
took the 38 bus up geary to leavenworth, then walked uphill several blocks to california to pick up that one thing that i needed to pick up because i left it there the previous evening.
so i went there.
enjoyable walk.
fine walk.

being disembodied and all makes things a bit interesting, i must admit.
but i get by.
but first,
ignore bums
pizza
gorgeousness all around
money
money
big big bigger bigger still.

i need some radiohead, kid a. i heard it earlier and now i can't get it out of my head. it's toward the end of the cd.

i just tried to look it up but the damn thing's not responding.

what i was describing was a sort of simplified version of what i encountered on the way to a pal's house who lives on california near leavenworth.
motion motion motion.
i was at the bus stop and overheard this girl, in a super harsh irish accent and fairly young...maybe 22...talking to her just-as-tiny asian girlfriend, first about how she always blew the smoke away from her friend, and then proceeded to show her by blowing outside the little bustop wall.
then she talked about the homeless people and how aggressive a lot of them were.
and that she was eating a burger and fries, i'm assuming right around there (there...meaning powell, stockton, geary...downtown shopping area) at one of the shit fast food joints down there.
anyway, the guy got right in her face and wouldn't go away. kept staring and or bugging her.
of course, i was eavesdropping and found it to be quite humorous, so i spoke up...
because, many people like an audience and/or don't care if someone else listens in (i know i don't and it happens to me fairly regularly so why not return the favor?)
i ask her what she did and she tells me that she bought the guy an entire meal "and i dont' have a fookin' moneyy" with that lovely irish lilt (i love the way they talk)
pretty funny, only because she says she felt like she was forced to do it.
this girl was hilarious.
but then the bus came, they sat in the back of the bus, i sat in front, and that was that.
and there you go.
nothing necessarily noteworthy..just all interesting to me.
fascinating is better word.
thinking about that everything you hear could be interepreted as music in some way.
what is it about sound?
combined with motion?
these are all basic theories, i realize, but well...where to even begin? my god...

so moving, speed, all that is an obsession. nonstop. constant. i'm down.

plus it was nice to notice that planet hollywood has been shut down. next to virgin records.
where i ran into the one guy i kind of liked in the 2-3 days i worked there (i can't specifically remember, only because i had some sort of orientation here and there...i worked there in early september, right after i got back from burning man).
even better, the guy...i don't remember his damn name....yet we're friendly enough acquaintences that we chatted for a good 5 to 6:30 minutes.
yeah yeah., shut the fuck up you say.
i am, and yeah.
so yeah.

alrighty, well i'm going to have to continue this shit elsewhere, because i gots to be getting home homey home.
cause it's late late late.
and things are happening happening happening.
sheeeeeeeiiiittttt.
pluggo.

and yes ma'am, i will conclude this wondrous and joyous story.
about the guy in the wheelchair and also...the party.
that really wasn't all that good of a party.

eat elbow hands and gruff sidewinders,

your governing legislative board,

Punky Brewster

so sayeth the shepherd......

so sayeth the flock.......

i often wonder if i'm a sub-aquatic creature. after all, i have gills.

give me the drukqs

music on: Aphex Twin, because it fits in nicely with my current hyper-chaotic headspace

don't jab me in the eye just yet, please.
I've decided to bring back the ol' "elbow random people in the face and/or chest" thing. it really works for me. because i am an american.

"The Star Studded Bungler"
by Frankie the Kitty

oh say, can't you see?
by the prawn's early fight
what so loudly we fail
at the headlight's last beaming
who's broad spikes and bright cars
thru the merriless flight
o'er the landmarks we clocked
are so valiantly leaning
and the locket's left there,
the chain's bursting with flair
gave loofa through the fight
that our neckware was still fair.
oh hey does that star-studded flannel yet pave
o'er the hand of me and the comb of the slave


in my ongoing coffee battle, i decided to get off at montgomery today and head up to peets since i was running a bit early.
but once again, i was thwarted by accident...i ran into my friend Brian on the street, so we simply HAD to discuss important matters such as gum affinities and licking issues.
by the time our conversation was completed, i walked up another block and found the longest line ever coming outta Peets, people were fucking standing outside! i was like "damn, this is NOT going to work."
so i took a look at Torrefazione Italia and decided to give them a go.
pretty good. much better than shitty ass StarFucks, though i still don't think they're beating peets. then again, i'd give 'em another chance, so looks like i got me an alternative. too bad it's nearly as far away from my work as peets.
dammit all to HELL!
why can't i just accept some plain-ass coffee? what is wrong with my digestive tract?

on my way back to work after retrieving said coffee, i saw this fellow speedily walking along in a suit and wearing a hat of all things.
it was one of those cool jaunty hats that your grandpa really digs, but more stylish. it reminded me of back in the wayback day when seemingly every man on the street was sporting a hat. i was thinking "man, he's trying to bring back the hat scene."

And the way it was sitting on his head (tilted way forward, covering his forehead) made me wonder what planet this guy was from. almost as bad as those fellows who wear stiff baseball caps sitting on top of their head (like my dad).

finally, i've noticed lots of people spitting on the streets of SF. most people just do the traditional cough up the loogie scene, though this morning i caught a rarer kind: the thin stream of spit through a gap in your teeth.
even the sound of it hitting the concrete is different, a sharper, quicker "split" instead of a "splat" or "blach" or "thwaa."
he seemed very proud that he could do such a thing.
i gave him the crook eye in response, since it nearly hit my shoe.
bastard.
i can't do the thin spit. i go for the traditional way.
just like some people can whistle extra loud and some cannot whistle beyond the puckered lips meandering whistle favored by octogenarians.

ok, i'm going to go eat some lunch and get to spitting.

eat random juice

love, echinecia and fennel

Marty Splockenfiver

call it mass destruction

Hi yo,
first off, let me begin by saying i've been having some issues of late regarding the inability to actually "write."
i sit in front of my computer screen and just fucking stare. things come, but with great difficulty.
i'm getting better, it would seem, but the last few weeks, i've been on kind of a downswing, despite the fact i have a number of assignments out there, just started a new job, and have been having a generally good time.
as i said, i'm really trying. this is supposed to be my outlet and for some reason, i started thinking of it as a burden.
but fuck that way of thinking.
i just need to stop and get over that shit.
the whole self-obsessive thing rears its ugly head yet again.
i have many things to remark about on this fine day but i figured i needed to get that out of the way first and foremost.

so yeah.
and yeah.