Idiots keep telling me to “get out of my comfort zone.”  This is a terrible idea.  Why would I do such a thing?  My comfort zone is, kind of by definition, someplace where I very much want to be.  But what is especially insipid about this trite advice is that it assumes I am in a comfort zone in the first place.  I haven’t even seen a comfort zone for about 14 years.  Saw a couple of illusions, but just when I was starting to stretch out and relax, they disappeared.  So no, I don’t need to get out of my comfort zone.  I need to find it, and then I need to fortify it and stay in that bastard as long as I possibly can.  I ain’t leaving unless I’m overrun and dragged out.

N.P.: “Fortunate Son” – The Dead Daisies

I don’t think I’ve ever been this busy, reader.  Holy monkey.  19 hour days.  At least I don’t have time to ruminate and brood.  I may or may not have started dreaming again.  One last week, and maybe a couple over the weekend.  It’s very strange.

Ugh…I’m delirious.  Must sleep.

N.P.: “Dear Mr. Fantasy” – Big Sugar

So just out of no where on Saturday night, i got this idea for a screenplay.  It’s sort of an unromantic romantic comedy that guys would like.  That’s no big deal…I get weird and seemingly random ideas all the time.  But it was…not fully formed, but rather well developed.  Since then, I’ve just been churning out the pages really effortlessly.  And I think it’s good.  And anytime I’m writing multiple pages a day…or, in this case, an hour, that is great.  Yet I feel I’m somehow cheating on the other two books.  Whatever.  I’ll get all three of them done.  I’m just not exactly sure of the order of completion all of a sudden.

N.P.: “Uninvited” – Alanis Morissette

Another long day with not nearly enough words on pages to show for it.  I suppose there’s still a little time left.

N.P.: “(Let’s Go) Smoke Some Pot” – Dash Rip Rock

I try not to hold entire groups of people in contempt and ill-regard, but honest to Christ, dear reader, I have never seen anyone in a minivan do anything right on the road.  It’s as if it occurred to them one day, “I am a really shit driver…I need a larger vehicle so I can take up even more of the road with my remarkably unskillful driving.”  DIckheads.

N.P.: “Y’all Motherfuckers Need Jesus” – The Goddamn Gallows

I knew well before I ate it that I’d put too much ghost pepper powder in the soup.  Holy shit, dear reader.  I did finish the bowl, however.  Also, not coincidentally, finished a whole thing of mango lemonade.  And still managed to get a couple of really good pages down.

I keep waking up around 0300.  This morning was 0246.  Like awake.  As in done sleeping.  As in time to go do…what?

N.P.: “Barra Barra” – Rachid Taha

Almost got killed twice today.  But I didn’t.  Also briefly considered murdering two people today.  But I didn’t.  So I guess it all works out in the end.

I suppose I should do some writing.

N.P.: “I’m Shipping Up to Boston” – Dropkick Murphys

So, the problem with Jack Daniel’s Tennessee Honey is that it tastes delicious.  Like candy.  Like schnapps: it doesn’t taste like booze, so you drink it because it’s lovely, and then you get up to go pee and you fall on your ass.  That’s the problem.  Other than that, it’s fucking brilliant.

Okay.

#andstolenguitars

N.P.: “Flood I” – Sisters of Mercy