Wow, nice interface. Very interactive. Here I am, and this is somehow cooler nicer than myspace, being focused on my old neighborhood and all. I've fallen from the graces of Elmwood and everything I used to stand for. Really, I set out to join the Army as a rebellion against everything that I am, and I've done a good job of it. I'm still everything I used to be, except now I am the bitch of our federal govt. It's a funny story, it's experimental journalism at its finest. I shot a lot of rounds off today.




There are my things, one of them's my keyboard that hooks up to my computer and makes the music that keeps me running and the other's my rifle and attached grenade launcher that keeps me employed in evil. Man, I love evil. I love being evil, though I hear we do a lot of good, killing people and all. Of course, I haven't done it yet, being that we're not getting deployed for a little while, but I'm into it. I went and signed off my life for a few years and I'm gonna be the best at my job that I'm able to be. It's cool that y'all who love my old beloved neighborhood, in which I used to be one of your most visible and flamboyant, get to hear from me as I immerse myself in another world, in which I completely fuck over everything that I once held dear. "If you love somebody, better set them on fire" as the Dead Milkmen sang. Well, yeah, Dead Milkmen, here I am, as the Aghori, of India, emracing all that is impure, in order to learn more about our damned universe that's gonna collapse on itself and fuck up all of our precious material, no matter how well recorded. Um, I'm drunk, so uh, well...I'll be updating frequently.

Big love to anyone...b

It's a sunny day, and for some reason I'm in the shade, at my dad's house doing laundry. I know that I have no future tonight, but hooray for work at sevenayem, and sarcasm...and getting drunk because there's nothing else to do. How about spilling beer in yr lap? Word? Thought so -second time I've had a spill on this skirt today, other one was coffee. Nutritious, huh?
The dog is here, at my dad's house. I miss him here and there in everyday life down the street from my dad's house. It's funny because people you can always call, or email, or even letter-write. A dog, you've gotta be with, because they can't talk on the phone. I'm sure my dad could put him on the phone if I called from the dark of night -wouldn't be the same though -and my dad would think I was more than just a little strange.

I'm trying to write a journal, but I know the only point of writing "here" is that someone will click across it. In real life on paper and pen, here I am highlight and delete. Nothing concrete and it's all a web of going back and thinking of something better, because though I am a fast typist I'm fastest with delete. I can throw out words that aren't even wasting ink, just time.

Really it'll be amazing if I keep up with this journal more than once a week. My computer is in the closet, being pretty much useless without a printer or online capabilities or, being that it's an iMac, a fuckin disk drive. My dad's up on his shit though, with his job and fourtyeightyearsoldness, he's got this computer, also an iMac, running smooth, and it's only up Ashland nine minutes.

Speaking As Though People Are Reading:
This site is a good idea for it's potential. Simply it's fulfilling it's mission statement, using the distancing internet about a neighborhood, with chalk on the sidewalk. I like the idea that people are in my neighborhood communicating in another medium.

Imma click publish now and just go off on some nonsense in my head without having to type it out. Next time: extra special report!! what?