Sorry Kim-this is not aimed (directly) at you. Take it in the spirit it's sent.

Been away, I know. But writing, I swear. I've been suffering some awful cold that could be allergies and could be a sinus infection and my doctor has decided to fire a shotgun with both inhalers and antibiotics. Something will work. I bought yogurt so hopefully I won't shit out what's left of my crappy innards. And they are crappy. I guess I bitch enough about the bum pancreas, the lost spleen and the lungs and liver I've done a number on.

All of this living costs too much. Drugs I need and gas to get them and haircuts and shoes and everything. I'm grateful for my strict anti-reproductive stance and what that puts back in my pockets, but some times the outflow seems just astronomical. How can we ever keep up? My credit card needs to be paid off Sat or there's insane interest and that's how a guy ends up in debt.

Sorry, I thought I'd share here, but I think I'm better off continuing the agonizing, slow work I've been doing on songs. That, at least, I hope will be entertaining. I'll get more here when life wants me to and if my family doesn't eviscerate my heathen ass over the weekend.

Can you dig it? I'm going to some religious celebration. If that ain't a pant load of love I really don't know how to show it.

There is an actual post brewing, don't abandon yet. Either it'll be about sex and death and how they just always seem to relate or about how fucking weird it is to me when people send me their pictures. You know what I mean? I post 'em and, shit, I have more of the self love than eny one I know, but Christmas postcards and wedding announcements freak me the fuck out. Look at me! Come to our thing and bring stuff!! Here's the family newsletter!! Pretend you fucking care!!

I hate weddings. And funerals. And birthdays and sweetest day and school nurse day and all that jazz. This may be the only place I'm with the Jehovah's Witnesses-that stuff is the hobgoblin of little lives. Please, please, please go make some thing; anything-weave a basket or carve a bird out of styrofoam. Hell, ride your bike to Tehachapi. Something that doesn't involve taking your crappy, sad life and folding it neatly into some ritual-those artificial dancing shoes on the two left feet of a banaustic life.

Ritual seems to me like some silly magnifying glass that extorts folks into looking at your ordinary shit and pretending that it means something. People pair off everyday. They fuck and have kids everyday, they die all the time. This is life. That's it. I don't know what you expected, but this is it. It's mostly boring and a real drag to keep throwing parties and having everyone over to celebrate this absolute let down of a shared experience that would mean something if it wasn't so universal. Why do we celebrate exactly that which isn't special?

Write a book-I'll pay attention to that.

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