deathtoyourmom

i'm 24 today.

and i can now weld steel.

saavy that.

its 2:58 am.

i'm trying to stop my knuckles from bleeding.

i've got ice packs on both my swollen knees.

before you jump to any conclusions, let it be known that

i feel good.

oh my god, do i fucking feel good.

these are the results of tonights mission: ripped flesh on my right hand, a bruise on my left palm, two nice lumps on...
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i've been doing this thing a lot lately where i go to the park across the street, sit on a big rock and draw for about an hour after work.

way better than my usual after-work detoxing methoud of dicking around on the internet for a couple hours.

today, though, i decided to go to boston common and draw the ladies underneath the fountain. it...
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so i'm up to twelve now.
mom's gonna be so pissed when she sees me.

was supposed to help my sweetheart and fellow fontographer**, dyana, move yesterday. but it turns out that she needed to move next sunday, not yesterday.

so i look at pierre and said, "ok, guess its off to harvard for me for an extra hole in my head."

and pierre goes,...
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just a really, fucking weird feeling.

i'm angry, but i'm not.

i'm being a complete jerk, yet i'm helping my friend with broken fingers move today.

i punched a guy in the face last night, then kissed him on the cheek.

i want to be held by someone in some sort of caring manner, but at the same time, i feel empty as fuck and...
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to jeff, in allston:

i'm so sorry. i'm really fucking sorry. i hope you made it home ok.

i went on a date tonight.

we were halfway through the second course when he decided to tell me that he has a girlfriend. and he's not poly.

i put my fork down, threw a ten dollar bill at him, as well as my glass of wine, and walked out of the restaurant and took off on my chopper.

that was a first.

i wasn't...
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i love how momo can always put things in perspective:

"those with little talent, little self-esteem, little results tend to hide behind big egos. you can hope with all your heart for someone to live up to their words, but no one can really live up to their pre-disposed notions of themselves."

so fucking true.

you're just one big lie.

tis monday. 10-something. i'm sitting in my room, with a pink towel wrapped around my head, listening to edith piaf's "mon legionnaire" and playing with this new toy i got earlier while out with pierre and heather, my two soulmates:

it's a death-clock. a fucking analog device you can install into your computer to help you keep track of your demise via databases and statistics....
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my jaw hurts.

but that's cause shakes punched me in the face last night when we started a mosh pit in front of anna's taqueria at MIT.

but i guess i kinda deserved it, i bulldog kicked him in the nads.

++++

while we rode through the boston public gardens, skunk played "relax" by frankie goes hollywood, and i thought of my ex's friend, the...
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so i figured i'd catch up on my correspondence. here goes.

+++

I. Dear Whiskey,

I am ever so sorry that I judged you incorrectly all this time. Perhaps it took me a while to realize that we are compatible, and you're really not out there to fuck me up hardcore at all. Thank you for showing me that a blissful intoxication is really possible...
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