make believe I’m better

the unicorns are on in the bathroom and I can hear them all the way into the dining room where I sit on thee teen open diary, lover of all, saver of children, solice for many. or solice could possibly be the wrong word cause that, like, has to do with the moon or something right? ah, it’s not important.

yesterday was November 2nd, and brought a number of large protests against the war and everything Bush. Yes, I went, only to find a total of perhaps fifty or sixty people chanting out “the world cant wait! drive out the bush regime!” and, although this is a powerful statement in which I wholeheartedly believe in, when chanted by only fifty or sixty people it sounds a lot quieter than it should be. Phoenix is the fucking fifth largest city in the US and there were fucking sixty people there? Oh God how it was bullshit. Did I see you there Curious Dave? People assume public protests don’t work, and they don’t, unless you fucking GO!

Afterward the girlfriend and I along with Jane and Breezy, still broken up but undoubtedly rolling in the joy of healthy drama and sex with new people, ate lunch at a sandwich place in central phoenix and talked about stuff. we talked to the server about the protest and he was receptive and in agreeance, like most people I guess.

The girlfriend and I have taken to hiking every Sunday with the dog and its funtimes. I enjoy hiking and sort of forgot how cool it is to go sit on top of a giant earthy mountain and smoke a joint and be in touch with nature. or some bullshit like that.

Life is full of routine. Get up, do this, do that, go there, do this and the same thing over and over. At night we come home, tired, eat dinner, shower, make out, watch americas next top model and fall asleep early. It’s like we’re old except we’re… not. been broke, ran out of pot yesterday, pile of bills and no fucking way out of them. things could be worse, but they always can be.

my buddy brandon from high school who I still keep in touch with invited me to go with him on a road trip in April. A road trip, he says, involving nothing but him and I and his geo metro and his video camera and a laptop for good, solid writing. He says you can’t write anything good if you’re not constantly inspired and he says it would be fucking crazy, something you always talk about and never do. He graduates from UNLV, where he majored in film, in December and says we should do it, just be fucking crazy and piss everyone off and do it, and see a bunch of everything and experience new things and make great art for two weeks. He says if I don’t go then he is going by himself. I told him I would go if I have the money, and I will, if I have the money. because that would be. fucking. awesome.

time shall tell. me something I dont want to hear. like, “youre ugly!”