Celebrating the death of a moderately important person

To say that I am sick of this shit would be something of an understatement. But then, I knew that getting in. I knew before I started that I would hate it. I was coming home to Vegas (if you could call it coming home, I never thought of Vegas as home) and I have hated living in Vegas as long as I have lived here and been able to hate doing so. So it isn't like this is a surprise or anything. That doesn't make it any easier. I still hate it here. I think I am going to move. Who has a couch I can "borrow" for a month or two?

Misa, call me back.

Recently I have often found myself contemplating the future, my future, what come next, what I am going to do next, how I am going to get the fuck out of "here" and over to "there" where everything is so much better (I know it is, it has to be). Turns out I don't much know what I want to do next. Or where I want to do it. Living alone has taught me a few fucking things. I don't want to live in a city where I don't know anyone, where my nearest friends are hours away. (I never want to live in the suburbs again, at all, ever.) As to anything else, I don't much care. I could go a lot of ways. I don't think I would mind a legit artist presence in the community (though I find that most "artist" types and their hangers-on are pretentious bastards who mostly don't have a fucking clue, don't know how to have a fun time, and are balls out annoying). And I like working-class heroes (so long as they aren't going to treat me as if I think I am better than them (which I do, but still, it's no way to be treated and it's another reason for why I am indeed better than them)). I could go on, but what would be the point? All that would happen would be more nested parentheses full of snide and witty comments about shit I am just barely qualified to comment on and besides, I am pretty sure I will hate almost everywhere the same. I would hate your city more if I could, but I have to be fair to everyone, and I don't really care enough to hate. It just isn't in me to devote that much attention to anything. Hate really takes it out of you.

I wrote this thing yesterday about me being something of a parasite, of needing a host to feed off of, of me needing to manufacture discontent so that I could understand myself and my life because I was never meant to be content or at least not yet and it went on and on diverging all over the place because it was something of an unedited piece with few constraints placed upon it, but it wasn't that good so I am not going to put it in here; rather I am replacing it with a run-on sentence.

I just got my bass amp in today. I can finally get that thumping shit up loud now. Rattle the windows, wake the neighbors, &c. Good times are sure to follow. I also got myself a tuner. I have some trouble with tuning and not much patience for it either. So as I was tuning up Genevieve I realized that she was almost completely detuned (my e-string was playing like my a-string should have, &c.) Michiko was closer to in tune, but she needed a good bit of adjustment too. For those of you that do not know (and I am pretty sure none of you do) Genevieve and Michiko are my bass guitars. Genevive is a lovely little thing, all shiny and black. Michiko is a dirty street whore. But the ladies get my by. You know how it is. Or you should. The Prophet was born to rock. Just ask BigCat, he knows. We're starting up a band tentatively called either Sound Financial Planning or Burnt Sienna and the Broken Crayon.

It isn't much good. But, hey, it's the best we got...

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"I fought the law and the law won."
- Bobby Fuller

"I fought the law and I won."
- Jello Biafra