Something I'd never done until Wednesday night was go to gig all on my lonesome... as of said night, this is no longer the case.



I booked my tix at the very last minute and couldn't find any company as a result - this meant I had to drive and, ergo; couldn't drink!! (Which was no fun whatsoever)

It's an odd sensation being in hall, full to bursting with other human beings, and feeling totally alone... not in an emo way, just matter-of-factly singular. Needless to say, once Modest Mouse made their presence known and took up their instruments for a show of monumental proportions, the loneliness quickly subsided and I was transported to a place where solitude wasn't something I was able to fathom since there was only room in my conciousness for appreciation and adoration.... and a dash of excitement thrown in for good measure.

Totally worth it.

... and so, another free, 3 month SG membership has been "gifted" unto me by an anonymous admirer/friend... either that or I've been the lucky benefactor of a shameless marketing plot by the SG operatives. Either way, it's delightful to be back.

What's new... is there even anyone I know still roaming these lands?

I'm officially broke, spent all my hard earned cash on gigs, shows and festivals to be experienced and enjoyed over the coming (and otherwise dull) months. A couple I'm practically wetting my underpants about in are Pearl Jam and Muse - If they fail to impress I'll devour my own head garment.

If only my numbers would come up on the lottery, I could retire as the man of leisure I was born to become... drinking rum all day and completing profound and intricate pieces of art whilst being pleasured by beautiful and exotic women... if only

Would anyone like to take me on as their bitch? I don't eat much and all I really need is pens, paper and regular sex.

Do you ever get so tired, you feel like your mind and body are slowly separating, the incessant onslaught of reality acting as the final and only link between them, like mozzarella strings from a hot pizza slice?

I know I do, I've even started to fucking hallucinate.

I've got a design quandary for those of my friends who're artistically inclined... or not for that matter.

I'm currently in the process of knocking up a tattoo design for a friend and said friend has been quite specific in his requirements: He wants "Pearl Jam" in olde english/gothic lettering, with a solid black star separating the two words and some kind of smoke in the background.

How would you go about it? Traditional methods or digital, self devised or borrowed typography?

I haven't really got time or the motivation to spend days toiling over it, so, I guess that's why I'd like a little input from you lovely people.

Thanks in advance

Inspiration comes to us in a glorious multitude of ways and means, and sometimes it's nowhere to be found.

Recent times have expressed the latter in abundance. I can't help but wonder if there's something missing in my life, the absence of which is causing my immense lack of concentration of energies and creativity. Maybe I'm not a creative person as I've always considered, and if this is so; I worry that I'll never be happy in life... 'cause I sure as fuck wasn't built to get by on intelligence.

I need a muse...

Another year older and none the wiser...

From what I remember, my birthday this year wasn't too unlike any other; which is to say - mostly fuzzy with intermittent awesome-ness in all it's resplendent clarity. I got through four or five shots of Jagermeister, a few beers and half a bottle of Cockspur before we left my friend's flat... but everyone knows it's nearly impossible to drink too much on the anniversary of your birth, it's like your instilled with the might and stamina of all the different people you've been over your years walking the earth.

This night belongs to you.



I think I speak for the other attendees when I say 'twas a night to remember... which, thanks to the first man to discover alcohol, will never be entirely recalled...



... so, thank Goddess for the inventor of photography.

Of course, there were some things I won't forget regardless of photographic documentation.

How can you justify being unwilling to pursue the perspective of others, even if only to better yourself?

No one man (or lady) can consider themselves above scrutiny, no one man (or lady) should be so arrogant as to believe themselves to be all they can. What audacity motivates a person to expect constant appraisal without the odd constructive criticism or home-truth?

Are you blessed by the presence of such an extraordinary being as the aforementioned? Do they deserve the adoration they expect from the rest of the population?

Sometimes it's like I'm still in fucking school, how haven't these morons come into contact with any situations to show them the path to the delights of self-improvement... I just don't understand.

I only ask, 'cause they piss me off near to the point of homicide... wankers.

I'm rambling.

Boredom is slowly filling my entire being with a numb, lethargic sensation that continues to exponentially limit my chances of finding something to occupy my attention. I'm turning into a big puddle of inactivity. It seems to be spilling out from me like some kind of toxic aura, affecting the world around me with devastating subtlety... it's already reached the TV, there's almost NOTHING on.

I just saw some scribblings on _Sylar_'s blog and thought I'd share some I wrote in school. Obviously not a scratch on my current literary prowess (hah!) but important enough at the time...

I don't think it' really finished but if I picked it up again I'd end up re-writing it entirely... so I won't.