it's 10:05 am, on April 21, 2013 - -.

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just got my copy of pete wentz's book in the mail; read chapter one, put it aside. the fear: that, like jack kerouac, I'll have fallen for the writer, the confessional, without having read on the road and once I do crack the spine, hate the book itself.

so far, it reads like palahniuk, which is a good sign, in many ways. well. okay. not for wentz, but probably for my enjoyment of the narrative. the first chapter contained the line I am an insomniac. My brain works the night shift. which is appealing, in and of itself.

someone told me the other day "you were emo before emo was cool". I was emo when it was still underground. I think I'll keep the book for my sojourn to watch music. it might mean more, but probably not; probably, I should grab another beat poetry reader, rather than a novel about fame written by a famous musician and an mtv journalist. meta only has so much to say, before it becomes so much smoke, so much self-involved confessional. and I would know; look at this journal, it goes back ten years.

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

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