wild child

there's nothing like coasting home after midnight, a blues program on the radio, no commercials--pigs don't scare you because you've got nothing on you...just this magical dazed coasting. exhaustion like thick glasses
except with that weight inside your chest of the impossible week. i'm slipping back, my priorities are getting tired. i miss my rock and roll.
king khan & bbq show
darker my love, viva viva
bill kirchin
coyote kolb

i'm sorry.
i'm too worn-out. i know i can't lead these two lives right now.

It's the first Advent tomorrow, my parents gave me a gigantic chocolate pretzel, and advent calendar with chocolate behind the doors, an Entrance album ("Prayer of Death," which includes liner quotes taken from the Tibetan Book of the Dead, Uwais El-qarni [a Sufi mystic], and James Baldwin's The Fire Next Time), and my mother gave me her old motorcycle gloves!

Anyway, "Prayer of Death" is kind of all about death, and, being artists, we're probably all kind of healthily (or unhealthily) obsessed with it. I love Guy Blakeslee's lyrics, they are rambling and passionate and honest and reflective and powerful. They are complete on their own, yet fit into the structure of the music in such an unexpected way. Right now I'm feeling way more inspired about music than about my art. I dislike everything I'm drawing, except the Don Juan cover. Everything's from this photographic reference and it just looks so fake, it makes me ill. The things from my mind freak me out too much to draw, it's shit. fucked-up bodies limbs and patterns that don't make sense. i don't have a cute cartoon-y style, just freak disjointed rambling line experimentation. i hate looking at it or drawing near it. i have to skip a page in my sketchbook.

i want a wild man for the winter