that kid

hasstyle-brown trowsers greenandbrown jumper blue shoes ginger fro
hastaste- sage francis king crimson herbi hancock hawkwind led zeppelin lynard skynard tism tom waits tool and all that...
amIsmittenhmmm-n0-deadimpressed? hellyes
amIinlove? Fuckno
amIhavingagoodtime? hotdamn you're goshdarn right I am
ishe? he seems to think so
arewetakingthisseriously?fuckno

cool

Eleven hours motherfucker!

I slept from a bit after eleven to a bit before eleven!
Fucking rad. I think I've hit the magic formula;
Fire going in fireplace + quietly shared spliff + Can followed by Lovage = Warm, drowsy and ready for bed...

it's ok; no one reads this

We were seduced by the promise of epic prog-rock at a bar in a converted ware-house down the road from out house, but when we got there it turned out that prog nights start next week and we were in for hip-hop, we had already paid, so we attempted to give it a red-hot go, but the mcs weren't filling the sizable prog-gap in our lives... so we retreated to our house to listen to faust and can and neu!(kraut=prog). I had an egg thrown into my hair on our way out earlier, which at the time had seemed incredibly surreal and mildly fortuitous because minutes earlier I had been talking about the lack of product in my hair, I maintain that the egg white provided me with tremendous lift and didn't smell like anything. I may have found a replacement for hairspray, I'm not down with the way mine smells. After about half an hour of lacklustre hip-hop, my head really started to hurt. I had a shower as soon as we got home, the eggwhite had gone solid.
I would never condone the use of hallucinogenic drugs. On a completely unrelated note
I found a page of writing next to my bed when I woke up this morning:
"when you smile so much it almost becomes a circle"
"what the fuck? every band is from the 70's (today)"
"they owe me a corn-cob"
"fuck you! it's origami" (if I ever have a band this will be the name of our first album)
"it's like kelp" "yeah, it really is"
Thanks Albert Hofmann.

you get the jist.
also a page of something that was written in the dark:
"tell me something real"
scrawled over and over -perfectly legibly.
(after our first album "fuck you-origami!",and our band is credible enough I think that our follow up album "tell me something real" will be the razor's-edge decider between new fans who think we're cool and deep and the people who liked us when it was still about the music, before we became complete wankers)
I don't even want to look at my phone and piece together what kind of text-message-fun took place at my expense, if anyone got one saying "tell me something real" I hope they elect to, I could really use hearing about something real at the moment.
and you... internet person who is reading this by some chance for some reason, if you are out there, tell me something real, please...

I feel like complete shit Ferris...

Can cross another thing off my social "to-do" list,
Made out with twenty-year old redhead atop an observation tower somewhere in Upwey...
check.
I think I'm going to munt

absolutely.

familial ties

My mother may be a complacent hippy who is so vague that she repeatedly loses my phone number and completely fails to let me know when plans change, but it still feels good to visit my old house, or rather, the place where my old house used to be...
It feels good to be able to hold Cleo-the-life-saving-cat and get covered with the varying colours of her hair while the little purring engine inside her whirrs away severely. It's pretty good to know that even though it was a total waste of time I left with a full stomach and a bag of cloth and some luka bloom cds. No conclusion...none at all...it just didn't suck this time.
cool.

best worst favourite cup ever:

finally

The dreammachine is built, it only took me three years of talking about it, but nevermind...



I also got a nice amp and double cassette, now all I need is a cd player and I can trash the shiny silver peice of shit that cost me 225 new and never worked right, looks like I'll have a far superior set up for much less, including record player...shit I was a sucker when I bought it at fourteen *pfffff*

I got mixed up confusion
Man, it's a-killin' me

Well, there's too many people
And they're all too hard to please

Well, my hat's in my hand
Babe, I'm walkin' down the line

An' I'm lookin' for a woman
Whose head's mixed up like mine

Well, my head's full of questions
My temp'rature's risin' fast

Well, I'm lookin' for some answers
But I don't know who to ask

But I'm walkin' and wonderin'
And my poor feet don't ever stop

Seein' my reflection
I'm hung over, hung down, hung up!
-b.d.