your mom goes to college...

worked the bar last night. crazy night. butter and andy capp's cd release party. the alex was rammed. the bar was filled with candy, but it was busy, so what can you do? made some good coin. wicked artwork on the walls from this guy. i bought one of his paintings. i had to have it. i'm house-sitting for devin and jill this weekend, so i came back here at like 4 am to let the dog out, then passed out on the couch watching napoleon dynamite. again. i don't care. i love it. your mom goes to college.



here's an interview with imani from the pharcyde, by todd e. jones.



check out some photos of styles of beyond, on tour in europe with mike shinoda's fort minor project.



been feeling pretty messed up lately i think. battling the depression. just feeling that overall numbness, not able to care about being alive, like the weight of knowledge that it's all just a big waste of time, which then spirals into feeling stupid, because i know there is so much beauty here, and i'm capable of channelling so much of it, and then i don't do anything, just sit there, and drink, and smoke, and dream, and creative worlds in my head that are ever-so-slightly closer to being perfect. that's why i can't believe in god, because i can think of something better. i keep putting off calling my doctor to go in and talk to him, i need a referral to a shrink. i should take care of this soon. i also need to see my dentist, get my teeth cleaned. i also need a new library card.

i had a crazy dream two nights ago. i was with sahra, i think we were living together. i think she was cheating on me. she was. with a woman. i spied on her. i caught them together. she left me. for the woman. she was pregmant. with my child. they two of them decided to raise my son together. (it was very ross/friends.) so then i'm this house. on the third floor, in a bedroom, overlooking a car in the driveway. getting into the car, a bunch of my high school buddies. tyler is there. he yells up at the window "ryan, let's go!" they honk the horn. i've got a suitcase on the bed, i open it. it's filled with hats. i'm trying to decide which hat to wear.
there are all kinds. next thing i know, my grandfather sid is standing next to me. he's been dead for years. (i was in the hospital room with him when he died, but that's for another day.) he hands me a hat. it's a little mesh-back baseball hat. it's tiny. like for a baby's head. it looks like it's been worn for years. it's old. it's flattened, like it's been sat on or run over. it's dirty. he says it's for my son, that it was his...



i like being at my brother's house right now. nobody knows i'm here. nobody's calling me. i can just draw and listen to music and watch i heart huckabees and eat chicken and have a bath and read the newspaper.

lasers,
ryan