whiskeyfightpit

Today I'm jamming with some like minded freaks. They record like one-three albums per week of full improvisation. Improvisation is probably a lttile too strong a word to use for what were going to do. Childish racket is probably closest to home. Improv is something usually attributed to artists who are somewhat familiar with the instrument of choice but like to expand on the ideas they've learned. I don't know shit about dick. I'm a little brat with a rattle banging it on the kitchen floor.

I've got the day off today so I've got a little time ot get some ideas together. There isn't much zaniness running loose in brain right now. Everything is coming out all biblical and apocalyptic. I don't have a way to beautify the language so it all comes out like a schizophrenic street preacher. The trick must be to blurt the ideas and work on 'em over time.

Is there a machine somewhere that can measure how sick ones mind is? This comes to mind after my various reactions to that silly power outage we had a few weeks back. I honestly was hoping that the end was around the corner. No more waking up and spending my time serving someone else. The end of electricity and civilization as a desired outcome. Like wanting the Detroit Lions to win the Super Bowl. When the power came back on, I was pissed off. I was that close to being free and then the fucking bars slammed home. Maybe it's best that I don't write any lyrics today.

Can you imagine that? Just walking around the streets with all of the fucking zombies scurrying around for television sets and jewlery? I would just skip along the sidewalk whistlin' an old timey working song. To not answer to another human being. Complete and utter chaos in the streets. Hopefully, the power outage was a sign of things to come.

soundtrack of the day
MINUTEMEN "What makes a man start fires?"

PS- Sorry the journal isn't amusing. Maybe I'll update after the noise session tonight.