I'm getting my fixes. From listening to music, masturbation and t.v. to the array of alcohol-induced activities, and smoking pot as often as possible which, being jobless now, is throughout the day. Awake at around 1:30pm, onto seraphims of the internet, then competition and tactics with peers across the globe via guns, sports and the like. Somedays around the early evening Mark Brainard sends a text "9dirty" or "Practice round 9?". Before too late I make my way into the shower, where I smile and squint my eyes in soft marijuanic bliss. Then often I hoist my aged Ovation acoustic guitar, strum critical chords, and search for a validity in the essence of my voice.

Tonight there's a party over at the house. Ryan had said they would be playing a game of beer pong throughout the entire afternoon and into the evening. The idea of seeing them all at this late stage in their game is appealing and I think in just a bit I will head over there. After reading On The Road by Jack Kerouac, I fully felt reminded of living with a feirce and wicked joy that can only come and be fully understood and recipricated through an earnest, unabashed conviction. Oblivion.

You digress. Go on?

Or if you'd like, RM, we could discuss your feelings on me using you as my personal journal.