I’m not working today and I’m not working and I am not working and by the way, and look and what else can I say I refuse to buy anything on black friday but craig is shopping now so he’s keeping an eye out for
‘pants that will make helen’s pussy wet’ 2 pairs of slim fits I can bring to New york, on sale, and I’ll give him the cash tonight. size 32
the jokes were grade A with kevin and craig last night brian walked out in the back lit a joint at the stars, took 4 puffs and gave the rest to me, which is why I ate 2 ham sandwhiches at midnight which is why I’m brain dead today.
flushed about 8 forgotten children tissues down the toliet, made to make up for helen’s temporary abscence 48 hours ago. to escape dad’s permanent abscense 11 days ago. The grief is here and in full force, the last 11 days are what? Problematic jokes, foggy nuances, and futile actions. But I don’t have to actually start working until tomorrow. I promised myself after she left on the train wednesday morning I’d take a break and have no rules till saturday, then get back on the bandwagon. I think that will start with the dailies - the pocahantas. got fountain going in atom for writing screenplays and love it so far - trying to submit some throw away idea to adult swim in their weekly live stream show called development meeting where you can pitch ideas. I wanna promise myself to do it weekly but promises are as dead as my dad. Except on paying helen back. the author said it was a single women’s house and she’d have to think about it before saying yes to me lodging there - I am trying to get helen to tell her I’m a feminist one of my lyrics is ‘my religion more women in power’ if that helps my case at all. Sounds like she went through a recently bad breakup and wrote off all men in general for the time being. We don’t know her but I’m sure she wouldn’t feel the same about me if she gave me a chance. My brains fucking broke but I am keeping it up, won’t drink though I want to, but I don’t want to quite escape.
It’s been 37 years just popped up in my ears at this mcdonalds, the song my dad plays guitar and I play synth. Today is a day for music for sure and a half and I don’t know why I wasted all morning on throwaway screenplay ideas when I should just make music but you can’t be loud at my mom’s house and her voice is a drone and you can’t be in the house and not hear it cause she walks around talking to herself of you all day long going in circles and I wish I wish nothing but peace and tranquility to her and the only real workout I could do right now is build some fucking shit, so I’m going to walk around all day and fucking get this stupid fucking piece of shit out of my fucking phone so I can listen to something cause all these ipods later and all of them have fucked up audio jacks and fuck up when I move, so how can you move without your own music in your ears and how can you move when you can’t use any of these speakers and how can you think when your mom is droning on and on and on and on and on in no direction in particular? The answer is jokes yoga mat foam roller tennis ball droogs - but it’s 15:something so ableton and tea and headphones for me. I just can’t catch a break but am on the edge of break after break and many hard earned breaks. BUT ITS MY DAD OFFF AND I WANNA JUST WOK cause then I won’t feel these simpossible feelings. These daddy issues this warrents that arrest my heart. Understatement to say I don’t care anymore about anything and only the bowels of lucy may save me, or this coffee, or my music, or helen’s voice. Nope no jokes left but that’s why I’m riding on and please stop writing michael this is terrible you’re terrible and you aren’t focusing on the right things time and time until timeless mic wins.
You’re not even a writer you’re a song writer.
I’m not working today I’m not working and I’m just not working
redundant title and redundant words