bag o' fuck

i'm a musician from seattle, but a music fan first. besides that i'm simply a dickhead.

fine.

i feel as if i should write right fucking now. it just feels sort of perfect to do it now.

i’m relatively drunk.

i’ve been shut in

i don’t even know what’s exceptable or not. i’m sitting here contemplating being honest.

things are anything but great, i’m listening to my brother and his girlfriend decide if they should go get a sprite or not.

she’s been here on and off for a while now. she doesn’t have anyone to relate to in seattle. and i don’t want to be that person she can relate too, as i’m not a good influence on any one’s life.

she’s having a hard time relating to people in seattle. she’s a seriously sweet-hearted person from the mid west, who’s a bit weary of my friends. no doubt with reasonable reason. as we are a shady group of people who populate the underbelly of a shitty existence. well. our current situation, anyway.

the funny thing is, she thinks my shadiest group of friends are the most straight forward. well, the absolute shadiest of us, anyways. she doesn’t seem to care much for the drunks. which i find funny, considering she’s from the midwest.

i enjoy her company.

it makes me kind of uncomfortable knowing that though. 

when she explains that some of us seem to be light sleepers, but she’s clearly concerned with us nodding, it makes me feel funny.

i was out on the deck smoking earlier. when i finished the smoke, and sat on the deck, i breathed the cool, rainy air into my lungs. i felt disguised, and strangely perplexed. an uneasy feeling of unwarranted well being.

i’m going to lay in my bed for just long enough to fall asleep. beer, and wine sloshing around in me. hating myself. ‘cause that’s about what i do.

we do this to ourselves. i keep saying that. am i just a person who’s a glutton for punishment? thank you whoever is responsible for cat power.