it's 6:33 a.m., on 2001-05-06 - Lucky.

~

See, there's this thing where, I have to introduce a new diary and say something intelligent, but, I'm going to avoid doing that, and quote Seven Mary three from the other page, instead. Because I'm a lazy motherfucker, and because I'm not an astronaut, and because if I try too hard to be gypsy-like, that house of cards will fall down and then where will my unlucky ass be?

It all makes sense if you listen to the lizards.

Vibing at you guys.

~*~

"Last night, I drove north on Hwy. 29 from Chapel Hill to Charlottesville. I passed towns like Danville, Hurt, and Mebane. So I'm passing this exit sign for Mebane and thinking to myself, this is what closure tastes like. I had a friend named Mebane some time ago who was really into secret messages. He used to say that R.E.M. had a song on Fables... or Murmur with a secret message to him in it. Michael Stipe calling his name - “Mebane, are you there?” Something like that. Most people thought Mebane was crazy, but I believed him. I'm not quite sure what that makes me.

"Anyway, Mebane sent me a postcard from New Orleans. He always cushioned his poetics with the same tag “another Cinzano in the sun” and always signed, “Your friend, Mean Mr. Mustard.” Sublime. Perfect. I had no idea about the Beatles reference when I received the postcard from him and sat down to write “Lucky” with Jason. I had never been to New Orleans.

"...Closure. Another exit sign on the twisting road. We've never been good about just passin' through. Closure tastes like nicotine and animal crackers. Next rest stop 46 miles. See you on the road."

~

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what would sith be nostalgic about anyway - November 24, 2015
moving truck dilemma - October 28, 2015
- - July 19, 2015
- - July 01, 2015
bruise - June 29, 2015

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