<h1>T'uh!</h1>

I don't know what it is, but lately the idea of journaling, blogging, whatever you shall call it, it has far less appeal to me than it ever has in my life.

I mean? I've been doing some kind of journaling since the first time I discovered masturbation? The two kind of go hand in hand for me?

But what is it about this summer that has stolen my heart away from my former passions? I don't play videogames nearly as much as I used to either. I really miss that shit. I'm not on the net....what the fuck am I doing then?

Spending time with the spawn. Watching Twin Peaks (which was OH SO FUCKING EPIC!) "Do you know who I am? I am the arm!" Fuck yes you are. Snookms impersonates that so well. I heart him for that for sure.

But seriously. That movie got me thinking about father fucking. I mean, does anybody here really know what it's like to be in love with your dad in that way and feel the doom of civilization thinking you are wrong? Ugh. I've got a motherfucker recovering in my bedroom right now. He's like, The One that Doom Possesses & shit!

I know my posts have been pretty fucking off and erratic. But it's what's in this noggin o' mine 24-7.

I finished (like REALLY finished this time) editing my book. It's about set to be print ready on Lulu. I'm stalling for a bunch of time I don't have. I'm on borrowed time right now, and that too is running out. I need to just do things already!

Well we are supposed to go see the new Transformers tonight. I forgot all about that and had made plans to run away and go get married to Mysty, but now I can't. Kind of bummed about that, but watching movies with Snookms & Co. is pretty fun too, no?

Just finished re-reading Craig Thompson's Blankets last night. Sat outside amidst the the electric air while Snookms cleaned his truck out & seriously wept over some parts of the book. Craig Thompson draws little boy dicks with EXQUISITE detail. Anybody should read Blankets.

So like I was in the shower last night, washing the many layers of dirt out of all the crevices of my strange body & started speculating.

Neil Gaiman.

Amanda Palmer.

They are an item. That is a pretty much a Dream Team of Spectucular right there. I like to fantasize about what they do & how they do it & what they are wearing, how they smell & what they're eating and such. I just thought it would be cool to attempt a fabricated novel of their relationship, except like change the names to Neil Palmer and Amanda Gaiman? I dunno. They could make Fey babies and Druids and Warlocks and call them all Neil and Amanda. Or something.

I just feel like blessed Maxon Crumb here lately. In the movie Crumb? Y'know, like when he was drawing all those comix as a boy & then they showed his slow but deliberate ascent into madness where nothing he did made any sense to anyONE, but perhaps himself? I felt such longing and adoration in that reveal. I want those fucking drawings.

There's just so much longing here folks. For things not of this realm. There's a small handful of you that get that in this universe. But frankly it's just not enough to feel Safe anymore.

What is Safe though? I've never ever really been That.