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thinking about how gus van sant wrote the campfire scene in the original script for my own private idaho with scott saying “i only have sex for money” and then mike proceeds to get out some money and scott responds with “i can’t take your money” making the entire dialogue about SEX, but then river phoenix after reading the script, rewrote the campfire scene into a love confession “i could love someone even if i, you know, wasn’t paid for it… i love you and… you don’t pay me” making the entire dialogue about LOVE

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seeing an apartment today PLEASEEEEE LET THIS BE THE ONE

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releases my spores that make you feel nothing

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A hawk with an arrow pierced through its body.

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stomachache :(

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like i like writing i love drawing and painting and printmaking and collaging and all of the touchable art. but music is like. this fragile thing i don’t understand but i’m cradling it and loving it and nurturing it even when it’s sick and dying . and to have others that you can trust enough to make things with is a blessing in itself. and even though life sucks i’m still lucky enough to have that. i always say that if i could have one wish come true just one thing it would be that all the music stuff amounts to something to someone else. singing is like my greatest joy. and playing guitar. i can go days without drawing but there is something different about it in my head

being in a band is something so sacred and special to me and i will fight and fight and fight and fight and fight for it. because otherwise i have nothing

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being in a band is something so sacred and special to me and i will fight and fight and fight and fight and fight for it. because otherwise i have nothing

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watched pulp fiction for the first time ever and damn everyone was right. that shit good as hell

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one of the greatest joys in my friendship with adam is talking about music together because we do it for literal hours just showing each other shit. we are soul bonded musically

i love music more than anything

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i love music more than anything

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why is it 90 the grease at 830pm. at night.

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* (Oh, these parentheses I keep opening?

* (I'm collecting them.

* (Right now, I'm 1,762 parentheses deep.

* (Oh, my precious parentheses... (I don't ever want to close them!

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not to NYC mayoral elections post but we might be so so so back

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2005

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