I'm not dead! ...at least I don't think so.
This got a lot longer than I meant it to. You're a nice person if you actually read and comment on this dreck.
You stand agog as the chalk-white monstrosity raises itself from the shallows, mussels clinging to its tentacular beard and barnacles colonizing its back and shoulders. It clutches what appears to be a rusted obsidian battle axe, the blade's once-mirror finish tarnished by the briny deep's decades-long assault. The creature, draped in waterlogged black rags, staggers onto the rocky beach, crushing a crab foolish enough to scuttle beneath its boots. It pauses for a moment to pick a rather large fish skeleton from its yellowing fangs, and tosses it aside.
It slings its pitted weapon onto its back, turns its watery gaze upon you, and raises a webbed hand in greeting...
Hi. Emerging from my SECRET DEEP-SEA LAIR to do my quarterly post. Pay no mind.
Postgraduate life has thus far been everything I expected it to be. I work during the week, and play music on the weekends. Holding down a guitar spot in a local thrash quintet known as Meat-Bird. (not me on the recordings, sorry) I'm being challenged musically (and athletically - Jaysus, Cayse McKinley is a drum robot) but the guys are also listening to my ideas. Robotronica was great fun to play live, but I needed heavier music.
Though I never really blogged about them, my drinkin' and whorin' days are over. The last twelve months of my life have consisted of masochism, mostly:
- a journafriend's rightful departure due to my selfish, narcissistic behavior,
- three solid months of violent upper respiratory illness due to weekly blackouts combined with 36-hour stretches of wakefulness,
- the failure of my journalism capstone, and its subsequent retaking
- driving 1300 miles round-trip and getting paid $1150 to play one show.
- two pseudoserious relationships, one of which ended prematurely and the other of which imploded
- four months of hermitage and two full-time jobs, which precluded me from any chance to practice my standard idiocy with women,
- the glorious realization that what I really needed was right there the whole time.
Nowadays I'm content to split a pitcher or imbibe just past the point of being able to drive, while spending any spare time I can snuggling and watching movies with a cute Eskimo who bakes cookies, plays video games, and designs theatrical lighting for a living.
No New Years resolutions. Just now resolutions.
- take self less seriously
- begin an actual career (whether this is music or writing remains to be seen)
- spend less money
- eat less shit
- be a better friend to the people I care about
- read more books
- start lifting weights again (I ordered a kettlebell today... What am I thinking?)
- swim more
- get less horrible at guitar (I'm not fishing for compliments. Until I'm as good as Jesper Stromblad or Dave Mustaine, I'm shit in my own eyes. Hey, get that shit out of there.)
How are all of you? Are you still alive?
- balls
You stand agog as the chalk-white monstrosity raises itself from the shallows, mussels clinging to its tentacular beard and barnacles colonizing its back and shoulders. It clutches what appears to be a rusted obsidian battle axe, the blade's once-mirror finish tarnished by the briny deep's decades-long assault. The creature, draped in waterlogged black rags, staggers onto the rocky beach, crushing a crab foolish enough to scuttle beneath its boots. It pauses for a moment to pick a rather large fish skeleton from its yellowing fangs, and tosses it aside.
It slings its pitted weapon onto its back, turns its watery gaze upon you, and raises a webbed hand in greeting...
Hi. Emerging from my SECRET DEEP-SEA LAIR to do my quarterly post. Pay no mind.
Postgraduate life has thus far been everything I expected it to be. I work during the week, and play music on the weekends. Holding down a guitar spot in a local thrash quintet known as Meat-Bird. (not me on the recordings, sorry) I'm being challenged musically (and athletically - Jaysus, Cayse McKinley is a drum robot) but the guys are also listening to my ideas. Robotronica was great fun to play live, but I needed heavier music.
Though I never really blogged about them, my drinkin' and whorin' days are over. The last twelve months of my life have consisted of masochism, mostly:
- a journafriend's rightful departure due to my selfish, narcissistic behavior,
- three solid months of violent upper respiratory illness due to weekly blackouts combined with 36-hour stretches of wakefulness,
- the failure of my journalism capstone, and its subsequent retaking
- driving 1300 miles round-trip and getting paid $1150 to play one show.
- two pseudoserious relationships, one of which ended prematurely and the other of which imploded
- four months of hermitage and two full-time jobs, which precluded me from any chance to practice my standard idiocy with women,
- the glorious realization that what I really needed was right there the whole time.
Nowadays I'm content to split a pitcher or imbibe just past the point of being able to drive, while spending any spare time I can snuggling and watching movies with a cute Eskimo who bakes cookies, plays video games, and designs theatrical lighting for a living.
No New Years resolutions. Just now resolutions.
- take self less seriously
- begin an actual career (whether this is music or writing remains to be seen)
- spend less money
- eat less shit
- be a better friend to the people I care about
- read more books
- start lifting weights again (I ordered a kettlebell today... What am I thinking?)
- swim more
- get less horrible at guitar (I'm not fishing for compliments. Until I'm as good as Jesper Stromblad or Dave Mustaine, I'm shit in my own eyes. Hey, get that shit out of there.)
How are all of you? Are you still alive?
- balls