Didn’t get soaked till the end of the pier… so dropped helcat off at grover beach train station, walked pismo and got to the end of the pier. I read the letter freewrite I wrote on the plane from chicago when I wasn’t sure if I was going to make it to my dad in time. Well I fucking made it and he made it one more month and I was there all the time and slept in the room and felt beyond horrid on the couch at myself for not giving him mouth to mouth in his last moments when he said he couldn’t breath, and I just fucking hate myself for it and the fine line between hating oneself and loving oneself someone tell me cause I walked pismo without a mind just lead by the theatre of my feet, my feet as a submarine after it rained there, me in all black 3 layers of cotton. I listened to my own music and I wondered nothing in particular. I was letting the emotions hit me and it emptied my brain. A nice older lady was kind walking by, but we all joined the people power walking off the pier after the down pour. another me would stay longer another me would embrace it but I wanted to escape through warmth and food and nicotine and I just don’t have the brain I once had

which is nice cause I used to hate myself much more than I do now. Standards are getting higher. there was a point a series of actions and goals and just all of it throw it all out sometimes would you, you have no place here until Saturday. that’s right I’m sitting in the hammock and fixed my moms chair and listened to her drone on and on and on and on and on and now I can handle anything, cause Im giving myself space for my dad and my dad only and here on earth I’m helping my mom cause it was one of his many dying requests that I take care of her and though I’m cooking a private thanksgiving tomorrow on bachelor neighbor greig christians dime I’m escaping for christmas in all hopes and full send jokes that have left, and I read medium cause that’s what you do when your brain’s dead and your dreams of starting a theatre begin without a head, your theatre director is your feet. and this focus is not going to develop into a foot fetish but if it does it’d be worth it cause I gotta do what I said - grieve by fasting - working - planning - singing - writing - recording - calling - and ultimately leaving so do the deed dead man

my feet are the theatre directors and they type on two facebook accounts, one for michael and the other for shadow mic, and that’s how the come back is going to begin. multiple accounts and multiple personalities existing in cyber space just to be frozen and woken up for a final flight to the sun on a space boom box with a speaker robot assistant and real life irl irl irl girl that’s not just a friend cut them noise thoughts kill yo self thot bots I write songs not books I sing not preach and like all the best teachers, I teach for free. suck my dick, God, suck my dick you cant touch me on my own personal safe space website this exists beyond your reach sometimes cause what’s the end of God? Integrated web 3.0 in our wrists and open source

and poopoo just started taking a second shit in this room today so Im going to kill him before heading to NY and recording here in the exact spot my dad passed as I hel his hand is a pipe dream, with that audio interface in that little slutty sexy red box and mine and his microphones, a pipe dream. my mom kills my momentum here with her drone voice campagins and there’s nothing I can do about it except headphones weed yoga repeat and the second she leaves next time I’ll lift the blanket on the table and it’ll all be setup and I’ll have an hour or two to record about every day thank god I love you so much I’m so blessed! love getting soaked there’s a wart on my finger || wheres sympathy tiffany || o and a lotta hope I loved the rocks she wrote on n left || ```

Didn T Get Soaked Till the End of the Pier

2019-11-27 13:26:21 -0800 -0800

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