lokidog

it's been a strange weekend...

reality, finality, memory, and desire all kind of train wrecked....

now, it's later than i want it to be, and i'm sitting in the wreckage of now. and then. wondering who to be, where to go, and if it matters. i am truly cursed with the beauty of bad timing.

the only thing that makes sense right now is a quote from Hunter S Thompsom, "i do not advocate the use of dangerous drugs, wild amounts of alcohol, violence, and weirdness... but in my case, it's worked for me."

in the spirit of that statement, honoring the man who made it, i am going to drink something, burn something, write something someone will read, have at least 2 more strong drinks, walk a huge black dog down a dark streets, in a bad part of town, and then go to bed.

HST was r-i-g-h-t. the american dream is dead. boys, and girls we are the doomed, and the silly. that isn't fatalistic, it's realistic, and the truth is we are all too apathetic to change it.

on the up side of down, at the moment, i live in alaska. there is more space to be weird here than anywhere else in the country. today, i watched whales, drove too fast, saw prints, in the sand from a baby bear, and it's momma, drank beer in the building where it was brewed, and then ate some good thin crust pizza.

ravens are motherfuckers, but the fact is lots of land with no one on it, beautiful women with drinking problems, and really big mountains work, for me. i may be crazy, but i see it and it makes me feel better about being who i am.

thank you it's time to walk the black dog.