9/19/25 - Double R

Good afternoon. Some more sobered journaling today.

Today is the first day of the film club. We're starting the program with something real easy to watch, that everybody will like: Superman. I've designed this program to sort of indoctrinate the youth into being cinephiles, even if I myself would never call myself one.

In the mean time, before all of that, I'm watching Fire Walk With Me at work again.

Unfortunately I have become one of those people that get really annoying about Lynch. I will try to be brief, with just two sentences:

FWWM should be in the national film registry. Unfortunately though, we are currently living under a fascist dictatorship, where good things don't happen.

There's nothing to be sad about today. Everything is so lovely. Except... I haven't heard back from Remas in a few days. I pray she is okay. The most uncertain factor of my life right now, without question. I believe it is worth it regardless. Every day I check three things on my phone:

1. Al Jazeera (real)

2. Democracy Now (real)

3. Instagram DM (Remas)

No, I am not trying to be little miss armchair leftist on purpose, I just kind of have this problem where I have a full-time job and am kind of strapped for time. It sucks. I miss being able to go to actions without having to haggle with my supervisor.

I also keep up with Manal and Ibrahim on WhatsApp, but texting doesn't count as being on my phone (shut up). 

You know what I'm thinking about right now? The menu music in Jojo's Bizarre Adventure: Eyes of Heaven. I'm catching the Jojo bug again. I'm gonna catch up with Jojolands, and also maybe start actually tearing through Jojolion. I remember reading 30 chapters or so and just... forgetting to finish it. Jojolion, I mean.

I think it's because of the music I've been listening to lately. Araki is just as brain poisoned about New Wave as I am. That's both New Wave, the music from the70's and 80's, and the French New Wave, the film scene of the 50's and 60's. Equally corrosive to the developing brain, you know. The urge to write stories about people feeling things instead of just doing things... and also wanting to make weird, wobbly songs about fucking. We've gotta merge these things together, you know. I'm gonna be watching some Varda movies after work because I don't... well actually, let me think. I was gonna say I don't feel like Big Pink tonight, but I'm thinking about it...

No, yeah, I am going to watch a film instead. 

Forgive me, Munch.

We're picking Cleo, from 5-7 tonight. I might also fit in Kung-Fu Master, if I'm feeling particularly open to devastation. I might actually do Sans Toit Ni Loi, if we're keeping it real. I'm using the French name because it seems cooler to use instead of Vagabond, because that's the kind of annoying I'm choosing to be today.

That duo I mention in every other entry, I must tell you. Even as they are apart, this truth remains intact. They both work in pictures, you know. Photography... 

It is that vanity I felt that deterred me from wanting to ever learn more about the craft. I was very afraid of investing in it. Now, not so much, I am prohibited more by money these days, rather than emotion. But I guess some of the emotive tethers are still there, actually. I get the feeling, like, "This isn't my turf, I will not step on it. I should stick to my mediums."

It's a silly sort of idea, but... I cannot help but admit, this is what's bouncing around in my head.

I felt bad for taking passable photos on my old phone, because my account was private. Nobody could repost anything I ever posted, it was great! That little incubus, he himself would express to me, more than once, his frustrations with my privacy. And now I'm an open book, and guess what? I've lost that luster, it is so freeing.

Remember the golden ass? At the DIA, the Donkey that everybody can touch? You see what I mean, I am sure.

So much of what inspires me is that sort of shamelessness I was indulging. Back when I was in an unhealthy situation, if I can beat that dead horse once more. I will not mention that anymore. I can instead focus on the now.

What I am feeling now, is... what worked, and what didn't? When was it too much? I am speaking of my attempt to understand our Oberon/Titania situation. Oberon is in another state, I may never see him again, you know. He would never be open to meet, even on a good day. And even if he was, there'd be a snag. I do wish this was easier, to just be able to hang out with someone. We're all so busy these days.

Titania is estranged, and from this point I should consider my knowing her to be outdated, insignificant. I do not know her; she's just somebody else now.

There was a customer that kind of pissed me off on the phone, but I'm gonna choose to not think about it. But they're probably gonna tell my supervisor I was rude or something. Whatever, I'm just kind of tired of people going out of their way to make you do extra work when there is an easier solution. Nobody wants to just read something for 30 seconds, they need to make somebody explain everything to them like a baby. Whatever.

I'm doing fine though. I'll see you guys soon.

9/18/25 - Light My Fire

 I have that song stuck in my head, you know. I have to thank Jim Morrison for his timeless songwriting capabilities. It's a shame that in real life he was, like, The Joker.

C'mon baby, light my fire... c'mon baby, light my fire...

I need to drink more mint tea. I want to have a little taste, a small experience of the norms of Gaza. It's become a sort of neurosis of interest, a method of emotionally reifying the culture of Palestine into my heart; I wish to carry with me a piece of a place I've never been to. I'm looking to do the same with nations around the world. With Tigray, with Sudan, with Congo. With Haiti, with everyone. In my heart is a fear that we may forget the people of these cultures under siege, and that when the work is done, the honest people of the lay, living their lives within our imperial core, may never know what the world has truly lost.

I do not want to be one of those people. I don't think I could ever forgive myself if I forgot this moment in time.

The music is coming along nicely, I will say. Every song has been written, vocals have been recorded, the shape of this project is now a recognizable, human form. It's not necessarily impressive or anything, I am just proud of the progress I'm making. Finding a voice, a sound that suits the color of my imagination, it is not easy. It is very satisfying to find that shape, and I believe it has been worth the effort.

Throughout the process of creation, you come to learn more about yourself, more about the expanse of your perspective, the limits of your feelings. It can be very humbling, you know. In really crafting Hepburn, I've come to understand more about myself, and that which really lies at the core of my personhood. I have come to understand that I am a very tenacious individual, perhaps maybe even overtly persistent, but I am also very timid in my assertions. I do not like conflict, even that which might be necessary or needed. In a very fundamental sense, I prefer to rest, to lay down. I take pleasure in raucousness as a contrast, not as a norm. 

So, I guess in that understanding, I've learned that there will always be a place for those jagged edges in my heart. It does seem, though, that they exist more as accents amidst a very sleepy, dreamlike kind of demeanor. I've always been aware that I can jump very quickly between a sort of cheekiness and a very quiet kind of reservation. I'm choosing to enjoy this aspect of myself, ever since I started work on this project. I no longer want to concern myself with whether these contrasts are becoming of an occupation or not, they are instead the necessary contrasts of my heart.

And now... for the silly stuff.

I redownloaded the horse girl game. That's right, friends and readers. I sooner chose to microdose gambling with another Mihono Bourbon career playthrough, than take the plunge back onto Twitter. It wasn't an easy decision, y'know. Twitter is the only real social media website ever, and if you say Tumblr is real social media, I will remind you of the great exodus of porn lovers that settled onto the Twitter plateau in the year of our Lord two thousand and eighteen, in the common era.

Today after work I am going to make an attempt to watch Chungking Express. I say an "attempt" because I am so fucking tired today, it's not even funny. I didn't even stay up late, I think my body decided to cheat me on electrolytes today. I'm hoping it doesn't carry over to the rest of the week, because I believe that I should see about going to the club again with my twin. Deluxx Fluxx is the desired spot this time, but I might try Northern Lights if they're not available. Planning my weekends never actually helps determine what I land on doing, but I am ready to adjust to anything this week. Tomorow, I get paid, so I'll be able to donate some more, and I can pay off some of my credit.

I don't think I'll be going to City Club any time soon... unless I can book a show, in which case, we'll just have to see what happens. If I can't secure some plans with anybody else, I might reach in my back pocket a bit and go to Ann Arbor. If there's anything interesting at Metal Frat, I'll be there.

What I am anticipating steadily is news of anything at The Broad. A friend said they might have work on display in Lansing sometime this year, so I'm trying to make sure I keep my ride ready in the case where I can check that out. And I will be checking that, you know.

I've gotta ask a different friend if they have any swimwear to sell. I know archive sellers don't typically sell that stuff as much as I'd like, but I have to be candid. That field trip ruined me; my brain is still in Honolulu. If Final Fantasy X didn't exacerbate that sort of neurosis, I might have made normal music by now. But no, my friends. Dolls of God really needed to be made, it's one of my best works.

Part of me does feel as if I'm working back into that creative bag, whether entirely conscious or not on my own part. I don't remember which of projects my friends said they liked the most.

I'll have to ask you guys, if that's something you're into.

The subconscious malaise of creative influence flows in a recognizable cycle, to my eyes. It is a crisp, blue river that flows between the testing grounds of machinery and sound. Every vehicle of change in the sky sees themselves reflected on the surface, and every creature has their own way of stepping across the water to whichever side they so choose. In our testing grounds, we as individuals learn more about ourselves. Sometimes as a group, sometimes as solitary souls.

That picture was clarified once again on Primetime. That project was largely an effort to take back some creative license, to reaffirm a more brave, gladiatorial spirit in my approach to songwriting and art.

One last thing: I am doing better on my own. I am safe, and I am now finally comfortable in my own skin. I am pursuing consultation with a psychiatrist, but I am also looking to just have consistent sessions with a therapist as well. Just because I'm feeling better today, and that I am finally alone, does not mean I should not continue an effort to better myself.

I am making more progress every day, becoming the best version of myself. I can have occasional drinks without any problems, and I will smoke real stuff, but no carts or vapes. It's gotta be rollable! I am still open to trying psychs, with a reliable guide and friend with me, in a safe environment. I think I'm good on edibles for now, they just make me fall asleep it feels like. Which isn't really bad, just kind of boring, I guess(?). I'm available for whatever plans on the weekend, regardless.

I'll see you guys again soon, take care.

HP Dump

Since I'm not on TikTok rn.

9/17/25 - The Duke of Earl

 ...and Sir Galahad would be named the youngest of the men of chivalry, the shield bearing starling of the Round Table. 

Today, my confidence is animated by an inclination towards warmth, and the promise of release through song. I am no longer afraid of playing the wrong notes. This song is mine to compose, and mine only to understand.

I think about Solange's concerto in The Young Girls of Rochefort. I think about how much confusion and bitterness seeped into her feelings about her work, how it would be her piece that led her to a love she felt she did not deserve. I also think about Gene Kelly tiptoeing and smiling from cheek to cheek like a jackass in that movie, he's just like me.

In comparing masters, I came to appreciate the mix of Avenue (Italics! Because it's finished!) that included my singing performance over the more restrained, conservative mixes. I thought, to hell with the reservations, those who will understand it will understand it. Those who will not have no business trying. I will be releasing the mono mixes as opposed to stereo mixes, however. I don't care for the way Ableton normalizes stereo mixes, even when you turn off normalization it seems like it's still suppressing the dynamics. Automation usually requires you really overpower the EQ to get the right stuff, it feels like. A trick to getting that sort of Brian Eno leveling is to have some more subtle white noise accent each movement, it sort of tricks the master. What I am instead taking a lot of influence from is the first album from Broadcast, The Noise Made by People. Things are more spacious, more personal in feeling. They made the decision to produce the project themselves because other sound engineers didn't understand what they were looking for, and I so understand that feeling.

I'm at work watching the Kelly Clarkson daytime program. She's singing My Heart Will Go On, and let me say something everybody will agree with: that woman could sing the screws off a door hinge. This might be the best daytime talk show of all time, actually; and I am so sorry to reveal this, Wendy. There really is no love for a native New Yorker. Kelly seems to be alright, but I will say that as far as my preferred variety of talk show brain rot, I'm partial to Conan O'Brian. It is for this truth that I was punished, you see. My sleep schedule was never bad enough to allow me the opportunity to watch his show as regularly as I would have liked.

I finally downloaded the actual Al Jazeera App, so I am living in the future for the very first time since all those centuries ago, when I lied to those people at the Concours to get pictures of the cars.

There's a photojournalist in the audience of Kelly's show today. She spoke about her work in the field, and her admiration for Lee Miller, the subject of the film that Kate Winslet worked on (Kate is the guest of this episode). This made me curious, so I was on Wikipedia. I wanted to do a quick look at the history of her work, and wouldn't you know it... Solarization. If nothing else kills me in this world, I can count on the weight of shame to press me down onto the flat grill of reality.

People don't use their ears at work. Whatever.

Today is day one of the rest of my life. I made a very rude and callous decision yesterday to separate myself from someone, and I do not regret making that decision. For the sake of honesty, I'll be plain: sometimes it is best to end something before it becomes a problem. I believe that our captive reader has the ability to self-govern without my presence in their life, and I bid them well on their efforts in the future. My belief in their ability to succeed does not entail an attachment to my decisions, however. Repeated disappointments create doubt. I am a human being, I cannot be told to turn the other cheek forever. I tried to enumerate twice that I did not think it would be healthy to stay close, and both times there was an attempt to neutralize the seriousness of my concerns.

I am certain, positive they will succeed at all they do. Without me.

Today I teach the first lesson of my Beatmaking class! They actually let it happen, hooray!

Good things are coming for us all. Believe that.

9/16/25 - I'm Only Sleeping

I'm in the den watching Cabaret tonight. I am starting to get tired, but this flick is a real treat, I just have to finish it if its the last thing I do. 

Money makes the world go round, the world go round, the world go round! 

Ah, its such a treat, it really feels so authentic. I myself was caught in a sort of psychologically detrimental lovegame myself so this hit close to home, especially with the thematic backdrop of Nazism rising in the country as all this soap opera drama is going on.

We should probably be dissolving fascists in boiling acid before long, y’know? So we don't end up like that again. That scene where they're all singing in the biergarten... Tommorow Belongs to Me...

There's something so horrifying about how pedestrian it is, you know. I think I've written about it before, yes, but it never ceases to disturb me. I've seen pieces of it in my life, of course I have. I'm an American, I see Nazis every day. A relative is dating someone who likes Trump. My coworkers have said there are certain things about him they like, even though they claim to largely hate him and his ideas.

It's so easy how it creeps in. In slivers, in the casual air of the evening. It tiptoes in feelings, and it laughs when we turn away.

Everything turns into dust so quickly, it can seem like it happens overnight. But it is always slow. Hatred is really a sort of molasses, you know.

Liza Minelli, my shayla... please tell that "outlives" account to kick rocks again.

To my sadness, I think about work today. Ugh..... I economically cannot afford to call off, which is a shame because I really, really should. I am not sick, no. I am simply lazy and want to do weird unproductive stuff.

I am starting to enjoy these days alone. It's interesting because this movie is making me absolutely sick with heartache. It's so much I could die.

Im thinking, I'll make this a short entry. Its starting to happen again, I'm becoming conscious of the fact that I annoy people. On one hand I know its like "I shouldn't minimize myself for others, you're so special bleh bleh bleh" and all that helpful wisdom I've thrown away. On the other hand, I miss talking to people. I miss my friends, and they deserve better, you know? I am not the person they "befriended," I see that now.

I think I'll feel better after work today. See you guys tommorow. Or maybe not tommorow, I dunno. Maybe just... some other time. ✋️👋✌️🫰🤙👍👊👐🙏🫦

9/14 - 9/15/25 - Gorgon

They really stop me dead in my tracks. An immediate confidence killer, a walking, talking malaise of confusion. I let the positivity and extroversion really pervert my sense of reality. No more "feel good" on the feed.

There will always be a right kind of snare, a veneer to ruin that cloud-nine feeling. I had a wonderful day on Saturday, it is only natural that God pulled me back to concrete slabs the very next day.

Lord, let me tell you something. I can remember the way I didn't even believe my eyes. I thought I was in hell. When they were talking to me I was certain I must have died. Thought I must have been in some sort of new age exposure therapy form of torture those real artsy sort of demons cooked up. They have millennials in hell too, right?

Yeesh. You know, I'm thinking about work tomorrow and, uh... maybe I needed to watch a different movie today.

I'm not telling you any fabrications.

I try not to look back and feel too bitter (I thought it would be too easy of a gag to say "don't look back in anger,") but it does kind of feel impossible when I'm alone.

The silver lining... I made a new friend at the conference, y'know. Always something to be cherished, very valuable. I'll try to leave that be.

But it never seems to escape my cycle.

"I hope I never see either of them." It's so tired, what a stupid inclination. Here's a new direction.

I don't want anything. I want to work towards an indifference to them. I don't think I shouldn't see either of them, I don't think I should, either. I have to forget about them... to the extent that I won't remember who at least one of them ever even was. 

It would be so much better if it was never anyone. I should have said no to driving my twin up there all those years ago. I had no idea about the world of confusion that would open up inside my head.

The thing is, it was easy to ignore it when I wasn't myself. Layers and layers, the version of myself that was buried in lies was very strong, very resilient. Except for when I had panic attacks on Instagram. But that was different (it wasn't.)

Coming out means keeping those pores open, the wings are fully spread. So, in that nakedness, I have to grapple with what's really going on.

The more serious decision to make is whether I accept there's only one valid choice or not.

Because there is only one choice that makes sense. And he doesn't read these blog posts, so it's unlikely I'll get anything from an attempt at more pointed communication. Why even bother? This is so vain, but there's such an intoxication here. A sort of alluring nightmare, y'know.

A sliver is better than a void. I would do better to probably just... remove her? I dunno. It's so childish, its actually so silly! I have new friends that are counting on me to keep it together. I'm gonna keep it together, yeah, but I know I made her mad. It's so palpable, it's like staring at a needle. I messed up somewhere.

I remember I made an edit a few weeks ago, and I remember I posted it with a song they like. Big mistake. That's so creepy, right? This entry is vague, but honestly? That's okay. I'm tired.

It's a new day, once again.

Lemme talk about "Rock 'n Roll Nigger" for a second.

I'm going to assume you all know that I'm Black. Not just genealogically, culturally, you know.

Being Black is a beautiful thing, y'know. This community, my people, my family... never in my life could I give that up. Never.

Being Black in this world also means being let down. A lot. And it's not unique to being American, no. I could be Black from Haiti, I could be Black from Ghana, I could be Black from fucking Iceland. They don't like niggas, at every corner of the globe. Sorry if this is news for anybody.

Being Black can mean being disappointed, often. It means being distrusted for reasons you simply cannot control. Nobody's perfect, but some people get to be more un-perfect than others. By this I mean, you don't get to have as much wiggle room. Not like other people.

There's a disaffected attitude in our community that I try to avoid, y'know. Being stiffed for your whole life does change your capacity to hope. But this is not the totality of the Black experience. Our culture is much deeper than just the pain.

Being Black means meeting people who see you as a novelty, as a sort of character in their midst, moreso than an actual person. This is sort of the price you pay for branching out into places not made for you, speaking personally.

I know for a fact many of my friends and readers who are people of color can relate to this in their own ways. Latinos, MENA, Asians, Indigenous, Black, whoever you may be... there is always a sort of guard you gotta keep up towards a world not made for you.

You're going to come to understand just how many of your heroes don't respect people like you. At some point or another, y'know. That's just life. I choose not to think too much of it.

But I need to inform you, reader. Yes, I know about the Joni Mitchell's "Art Nouveau" character, and I know that she stands by it to this day. I know about that song from Patti Smith, Rock 'n Roll Nigger. I know about Eric Clapton's... entire deal. I know about Woman is the Nigger of the World, I have heard it all. I promise you, I know.

I don't pretend to believe that these people, as much as I admire their work, have any incentive in their hearts to really give a shit about the people they love to fashion themselves after. It's really disgusting, but it's nothing new.

When asked about why she wrote that song, Patti Smith said something similar to what I'm sure many of us have heard from some white person at one point or another. She felt, in her mind, that she basically was Black, because she was countercultural and rough necked, or something. Because she was on the margin of society, she felt that qualified a sort of Blackness. A lot of people think that being Black is about being poor and misunderstood, they essentialize an entire race of people as being avatars of refuse. They believe that simply because the hardships I described are common externalities of being a Black individual, they feel that it is at the core of what being a Black person, and thus what Black culture, is actually about. 

You can't talk to these people. You literally just can't. Have you ever caught a white zoomer using the word nigga? They say all sorts of hilarious bullshit; it's like you caught them with their pants down. 

Black people are not human beings in the eyes of a lot of people; it's like were elves or ogres to a lot of people. It's a sort of degraded kind of orientalism, where they "admire" us because they feel that we are effectively a catch all demographic that embodies the trash, the dregs of society. Joni Mitchell loved to say she thought she was spiritually Black in her writing, y'know. It's a bunch of horseshit.

Rockstars are overwhelmingly white, working-class kids with very little reverence for anything facilitated by their forebears. There was always gonna be some good and some bad.

The thing is, today, I notice a really unfortunate thing about a lot of members of our community. They have started to believe the very same lie about ourselves, it motivates a self-hatred of our community. You know, there is that respectability game that every marginalized in-group is forced to play. A lot of Black people do not love what we create, they do not love what we are in reality. They want to be like White people, you know. The goal is not a more equal world, a fairer and more equitable world. No, we want to be landowners. Kings, Emperors. Billionaires.

Recently I bought Wretched of the Earth by Fanon. I'm excited to read it! A lot of what it deals with is the way that colonialism degrades the mind. In the context of Fanon, it was not just Algeria, not just Africa, but the entire cultural world of "The Negro" as a community that is affected by the degradation. This is a topic I have become sort of obsessed with. I see how few of the older members of our community are standing up to the new Jim Crow, and it really bothers me. How many cop cities and prison slaves are they gonna use until the disaffectedness stops being chic? Does Trump have to send the guard into Detroit for the BOPC Commissioners to finally give a shit about the police state? When do we stop talking about having better influences on our youth and just actually start being those better influences? James Baldwin had this killer text, The Fire Next Time. I remember my Dad assigned my sister and I to read it, but he only wanted us to read the second half, about the Nation of Islam folks. He didn't want us to read the first half that critiqued the immobilizing effect of Black Christianity in America. I had to go and find out about that myself. My Dad is a great man, but everybody has their biases.

It's like we're moving in circles. A lot of you niggas are really shallow, y'know? Some of us really want to pretend that we are somehow singular in our struggle, as if we're an island. As if the context and realities of how we suffer are not interlinked to the struggles of so many other communities. As if we can thrive in a vacuum, without the cooperation and assistance of the world around us. We like to pretend that we have no allies, it's a sort of sub-community of sociopaths that is shaping the internal narrative of our efforts. They really want you to believe that Latino people all wanted Trump, that Muslims abandoned us, that we have to "focus on our own."

This is such bullshit. If anyone falls for that CIA crap, you're a fucking mark. But we let these niggas who have been deprived of a real education by the system, who lack the comprehensive skills to understand how they are being played, control the conversation. And then those of us who have been given better opportunities, the ones with real power, are all neo-liberal brainlet fucking morons. All they care about is the fucking money, because they can't see the social value of what it represents. All they see is the numbers, they're soulless! They don't want a community that provides for itself beyond the confines of commerce and wealth. They don't want protection for the vulnerable, they just want to get rich! Because if we're being honest, how easy is it to really make it as a Black individual in this world, with your soul still intact? They won't let it happen! They try to break you, man! It's some of you guys don't believe in a future of cooperation, you believe in some Roc Nation Fairy Tale bullshit. You think you're realists because you have no imagination, your brain is limited on a fundamental level. Those slaves in the Congo mine the materials your cell phones run with, guys. Those people in Sudan are being killed by an organization paid off by UAE Oil Magnates. The RSF gets more money to rape villages of women cause of those trips to Dubai you're taking with your twitch flophouse buddies, but you want to tell me you're good for our community. I don't give a fuck about if a rapper says whatever sort of thing in a song, that's art. Your kids like what's interesting, make something interesting for them to compete. It is your responsibility to care about the effects of what you use, what you invest in. Stop being useful idiots for capitalists, that's a white man ideology.

I'm not gonna humble myself by trying to say, "but, y'know, I don't have the answers."

Because on one hand, yeah, I don't. I'm not Jesus, right? I'm not Lisan Al-Gaib, I'm just Gabe.

But on the other hand... we have known exactly what is needed for a very, very long time. It is not news that we need to interlink the shared struggle of all common people. That it only works if we work together. But I already told you guys about the altar of blood, right? Doing the right thing isn't passionate enough, it doesn't feel interesting.

I'm gonna stop being mad. Let me pivot back to the psycho gossip instead. I don't want to come off like Huey Freeman on my hobby blog, yuck. That's the adult swim character, not Huey Newton. I'm not loving enough to be like that guy.

Hmm. What to say... 

I got it mixed up all those months ago. It was him I intimidated, and I think I just plainly weirded her out. Water under bridges, my phone is open for anything. If they send me anthrax in the mail, I'd like to tell her that they should be sure to put it in a manila folder, and very clearly dictate that it is my letter to open. I don't want my family to get got, y'know? You understand.

That's easier to quantify, for the less familiar of the two.

Y'know what, if she reads this, let me just say, send me a picture of a gun. I'll pull it out of the screen and shoot myself with it.

The real tricky one is that friend of mine, a sort of platonic immortal beloved situation happening here. I would have an easier time trying to open a Coney Island Restaurant on Venus, Jesus. How many dead numbers do I have in my phone, I wonder? One of these has to be fake. I'm trying to manage a split custody friendship, and I embittered half of it already. It's actually the worst thing in the world when you befriend a couple, and then they break up. Who am I allowed to talk to? Can I be friends with both? Who ended up being the problem? Were they both the problem? Even worse... were they both normal? Are they still together but one of them is a scientologist? Was one of them secretly gay? I'll never know!

The half I have been told is going strong doesn't see my texts anymore. But he said - NO. NO. We are adults about this! I'm going to the bar, by myself. Again. And I will be happy about it. Again.

This sucks so hard, why did I have to be a nightlife hack? Being outside is the only thing that saves me, and it SUCKS. I don't even play my video games anymore, but I still watch Gundam and build these model kits... just yesterday I bought a Deoxys figure, yuck! I've got nothing nice to talk about with these people at Big Pink! People telling me how "good" I look, and it's like... I'm a fake hottie. I'm not actually attractive, I'm a nerd in slut's clothing. I have men telling me I look good, because I don't pass yet, I just look like one of Joe Jackson's bastard children.

Let me use the restroom for a minute. I'm at work, and there's like 3 no-shows today. 

This isn't a sad one, it's a funny one.

I'll see you guys tomorrow.

Archival Post 7 - 9/13/25 - Hippolyta

Today has been a good day. Today, I set aside the aches and pains, I left alone my stressors. I took a trip to the museum, I sat by the water. If just for a day, I let go of the weight.

It was while I was in the the DIA that I was struck with a new direction. It was in my time on the riverfront that I found a way to tie together all that currently feeds my imagination. I have found a way to interlace an influence of myth with a fascination of kitsch low-culture.

Its funny, cause it does feel like a long time coming. It's a connection that just makes sense the more I think about it.

Pegasus is a child born of the blood of his mother, Medusa. A Gorgon, she was a woman feared, scorned and abused, beheaded by Perseus. He was just following orders.

Archival Post 6 - 9/12/25 - Cudgel

Never in my life, let me tell you. I won't talk about it, I'll let it marinate.

This project is just downright impossible to pull off. I don't have enough money to pull it off, is what I think. Every rope is starting to tug at the same time, and that's just life, I guess. I'm not going to wince, I'm not going to winge, I'm just gonna sleep again.

I wrote a song about them, and I don't like the way it sounds right now. I think I'm having a bout of malnutrition again, so I'm taking my mindset with a grain a salt. Bit of a bizarre concept, maybe. I think writing about them made it easier to forget. Not everybody makes it easy to move on, but some people do. I guess I'll have to thank them for being so easy to walk away from.

I think about the song from Strawberry Switchblade, Go Away. It's all the same things, it's all the same feelings. James Baldwin spoke on how there really are no original feelings, no original thoughts. If you read far enough, learn about what people have felt in years past, you come to understand how many people have been through what you've been through. You start to realize how many have seen what you've seen. You start to understand just how much strength it takes, every time it happens.

I've been privileged enough to have a long memory, in some areas. I've been privileged enough to recognize, and feel, that the cycle is starting again. And it's magical, you know. It feels lighter, like a sort of linen sheet. To be on top of it all, seeing the wheel turn like that... it makes it hurt a bit less. 

I feel like maybe I'm getting closer to understanding her. I understand the feeling, it's like being strapped down to a chair. I understand why she went down the road she's walking. I have a friend I haven't spoken to in a long time, a friend from grade school! I only see them online anymore, y'know. It's a good thing to move on. It's a good thing to forget. I'm still thinking about that call. I don't know why I told her all those things. She seemed busy, you know? She was at the height of the wheel, and here I was through the satellite signal pushing her down, closer to the bottom. She is good person.

I let Charlie Kirk getting popped ruin my focus. I said no extra posting, get off social media, and I fucked it up again. I knew eventually I was gonna relapse on something. I stopped smoking, and I stopped drinking, so it was bound to happen. This is what I mean by being atop the wheel. I'm not beating myself up as much when I can remember my limitations. It's not as crushing to remember how long it needs to take.

I tried to promise myself that I'll get negative influences out of my life, to separate from... "scenarios," that make me feel horrible. There's the issue, you know... I can't make promises to myself. Not anymore. I knew from the start I couldn't really do it, and so the fact that, slowly, I'm achieving what I need, as frustrating as it is... it is important. It is good that I'm making an effort, that I'm making any progress. I'm kind of crawling on my stomach, but I'm moving forward.

I realize there's a certain mode of reflection I tend write in, that I feel can be grating after a week or so. It's not something I am willing to change, believe that.

I'm still not really getting away. Maybe I never will. I called all those people just to fail them again. Maybe that's just a temporary condition... hopefully this is just a season. The wheel, I think, has to keep rolling, right? I'll find a way out. One day.

You know, my Aunt went through a similar thing actually. The things my family had to do to keep her safe, you know. I wish I was smart enough to stop myself from letting that happen to me. I guess I'm not as much of a brainiac as I feared, I guess that's a good thing!

As I continue the course on this project, part of me is thinking... maybe Hepburn isn't meant to be? I'm realizing that writing this entry is making me feel a bit worse, actually. Maybe being an extrovert is a bad thing, actually? This is awful! I think I don't like this revelation about myself. The need to tell everyone what I'm thinking, you know. Music, you know.

I'm noticing I'm not as pretty sounding and verbose today, unfortunately. I'm still tired from yesterday, to be honest. I feel a need to highlight some things about myself.

I don't use AI. None of this is AI. I don't assume any of my peers thought I was using anything like that, I just wanted to say it out loud. 

It was bugging me because I know I write too much, but I know a lot of people who loathe the idea of writing anything longer than a paragraph, and I understand them, y'know. But that's not me. I've a more embarrassing vice, officer. Father, I have sinned. I've got a novels worth of diary entries I post on my Instagram so somebody I used to know in Middle School can find out I'm a tranny drug addict. It can feel a bit humorous to be so vain sometimes, do you get what I mean?

Learning that I am a bit of an extrovert has been bittersweet, because it seems so unbecoming! All of my friends I made up to this point, they're all introverts. I used to be an introvert too, because guess what? I met 90% of these people when I was still in the closet. When I was sane, when I was a good egg, go figure. All these introverts I know, they found their true selves, and they're all mature now, they're such good people, you know? I was such a late bloomer, and now look at me. Now I can't make myself shut up, I can't stop doing things and saying things and going out... I exhaust myself, you know?

Sometimes I wish I was still an introvert, sometimes I wish I was still a good speaker, but it was knocked out of me. And I can't tell you why, it's so... frustrating! I'm so happy to spill, I can barely hold it in, but I'm in an unsafe situation right now, so some of you guys are just going to have to use your imagination!

I remember I made the mistake of being social and happy and having my makeup on recently, and it made my family sad! They don't like having gay weirdos in their family, I understand.

9/10/25 - Abraham

I love my family with my entire heart and soul. That will never, ever change. But I also love myself. Every now and again, I am reminded that my family is full of religious fundamentalists. 

Sometimes they're good at concealing, I'd say it's most of the time, but the way some of my most beloved visibly wince at the sight of seeing me wear makeup and nail polish never gets old. It hurts every time. 

The only difference from now and then is that is that now, I don't retract myself to stop doing whatever it is that set my family aside. I'm not apologizing, and I didn't do anything wrong. 

It's such a weird thing, something I've learned just has to be fundamental to my experience. It's never going to be easy, and I will always be in hostile territory... unless I lie, you know. There is that. There are levels to boymoding, not all of them are fully fabrications. But in my heart, I know that this problem does not dictate the totality of who they are, beautiful people all have flaws. I think part of their frustration might be that they assumed I only dove deeper into my transition because of my ex or my sister or something. They are now finding both people are fully unaffiliated with my transition. They hate to see it!

I made my decision to come out with a keen knowledge that my family would never see me the same again. It was known quantity in my mind that some of my family members would never respect me in nearly the same capacity as when I was just a very introverted, lonely young "man." I decided that I am more important than their politics. I am more important than dogma. Every individual soul is worth more than words on a page.

There's nothing in the Bible about being transgender. Jesus himself never said anything about gay people or anything like that. A lot of the questionable stuff from those Gospels are the work of ol' John the Baptist. The idea that this stuff is somehow uniquely impure is just a feeling, its just woo woo bias bullshit that they made up. The bitterness and confusion come first, the dogma acts as a supplementary support. Confirmation bias, except there isnt even any reliable information they're taking out of context, they just made it up. 

It just... "feels" wrong. Like, somebody born male, wearing lipstick, just triggers a disgusting reaction in their brain, because of how deep they're living in the pocket of the lay. They're so stapled into the picture of normalcy that even insignificant deviations like that are enough to make them afraid and angry. Nobody actually has to be getting hurt or anything, is what's crazy. It's simply the fact that you decided you are something they don't believe you should be allowed to become... that's really all it takes.

Conservative ideology is defined more by what somebody is against than by what somebody believes in. Look at Trump supporters, for instance. They'll say theyre against pedophiles one day, and wave a Trump flag the next. They'll say they don’t want their children to be abused, and then don't allow children rape victims to get abortions. It's not about what actually makes sense, or what they believe in. They do everything simply because they know they don't like people like you.

Fascism is like this, it's more about being opposed to some other class of people than it is about helping anyone. In fascism there must always be an "enemy" to eliminate or target. Somehow everyone who is not you is the problem, right?

But I think these ideologies aren't interesting to look at. We have to understand the true problem of the world. We have to go back to the lay, the moderates.

Moderates don't really know what they believe, or what they hate. They only know what they like.

You gotta understand, this isn't the same as what someone supports or believes in. You don't have to like something to know or feel that it is correct. The problem with moderates is that nothing is actually correct or incorrect. I explained this in an earlier blog post, its the treatlerite mindset. Comfort, sense, ease, luxury. These are the things that motivate the moderate. 

Moderates don't attend any protests or write any letters or take any serious political action, because that would mean they have to actually do something. And that's not fun, that's work. Moderates are the majority, they mostly all have jobs and bills. In their mind, the idea of wanting to engage in some kind of struggle or effort by CHOICE outside of the daily survival tasks is simply unthinkable. That extra mile is conserved solely for their personal inner world of their kids, spouse, or parents.

It never occurs to them that people with actual convictions, "principled" or not, also have families, and bills, and jobs, too. They don't understand how somebody can be intellectually multitudinous in a manner not inherent to being without focus, but instead defined by having a clear focus of action.

Conservatives do things because hate is a motivator. Others act in service of justice, empathy, etc. It's hard to start an international political movement motivated by a desire to do... nothing.

It's only the kitchen table they see. They're all very farsighted.

Within these dialectics I come to understand why my family is the way that it is. Not everybody can be so many things. Not everybody can be a parent AND an activist. Not everybody can be an artist AND a community servant. A lot of people are limited in their worldview to believe they can only ever be one of these things.

Every day I see and talk to families in Gaza who desperately long to return to the regular, "boring" life so many privileged eccentrics like myself swear they want no part of. People need to feel safe, to feel comfortable. What people deserve is to never have to question if they'll have food, water, shelter, freedom. Ideally, in a system designed to help all of us, and not some of us, many more of us could afford to be moderates.

Unfortunately, we don't live in a world where that attitude is conducive to positive change.

You don't have to understand what it means to be transgender. You don't have to pretend to get it. You can admit to yourself, that you have a sort of unsophisticated understanding of gender, of personal identity, of sociology. And to be honest without hate is commendable, no matter what anyone says.

You do have to respect those who are transgender, however. To allow your ideology to mold you into a tool of repression and control is reprehensible, make no mistake.

Eventually, you will have to choose. Not everything is purely binary, not everything is simply good or bad, obviously... but indecision, stagnation, those are not allies of progress. Those are not allies of community.

Eventually, you will have to choose. You are either with me, or against me.

This is the first part of today's post. I'll write more later on.

------------------

Some difficult things with the family, my sister got sick from one of the kids at work. They're a schoolteacher, it's bound to happen. But please pray for them. My sister is my best friend, they're my closest family. They said it's not covid or strep, but they may be out of commission for a day or two.

Mahmoud was kind enough to reveal to me the system that many Palestinians in need use to find donors. This makes it feel less overwhelming when dozens of people flood my dms looking for a helping hand, you know. I can't blame them, so I won't.

Recently my phone number has been given up to others without my consent, however. So now people are reaching me directly, who have more information about my donation history and my personal information than I believe would be safe.

A lot of what I choose to do puts me at a certain level of risk, this much I know. Even if it is a very minor security problem. From here we can connect what I was talking about with being trans with being pro-Palestinian.

Eventually, you just have to let the risk be what it is, and do the right thing anyways. I reach out, I communicate, I donate. With this I learn so much about these individuals, and it is from this I have to sober my mindset. Palestinians are not superhuman, they're not "exotic." They're just regular people, like everyone else. There are Palestinians who are like titans, creative and capable in ways so few in our world can be. And there are Palestinians who are just Joe from Walmart. And both of these people have an equal value as human beings.

I am not more valuable or more "special" than some other guy just because I'm a transgender woman, or because I'm Black, or because I make music or whatever. That's not how it works. I think sometimes I use twitter and I see... the most bizarre takes, you know. Orientalism is very pervasive in left wing political spaces, you gotta understand. Y'know, my irl friends and insta mutuals, if that is a term I can use, seem more grounded and worldly, even if they're creatives 'n stuff. It's people who usually have some kind of occupation, some kind of trade or art they do. Meaning, they touch grass. Easy to talk to, y'know. I see them at protests, at restaurants, in the club, whatever whatever. It's more them Twitter folk, y'know. They scare me.

Some of my close irls are both, y'know. So they a lil crazy, but they're good people. They do good shit, like good shit, but they can be a lil different sometimes. That's not a bad thing at all, my goofy irls are some of my closest, most dear friends, it's just how it is.

It's when I'm on that death site and I see some of ya'll saying you brought ket to protest about, Mahmoud Khalil or sumn, I gotta look at you a little different. Like... you're not a serious person, bro. There's a time and place for that stuff, you can't always mix that kinda thing. I remember this girl was into me cause I was talking about Osamu Dazai and James Baldwin or whatever, but let me tell you something. The Manson family is still around to this day, and they exist in the form of chronically online Transgenders. 

You have got to be careful talking about Politics around some people. Some people will say they are about all the right things, y'know. Social Justice, Prison Abolition, Gender Equality, Third Worldism, the whole shebang. But on the inside, what they really believe... it's hateful, it's selfish. They treat the people in their real life like trash, y'know. I remember this girl cheated with her best friend's gf, and then she wanna try to flirt with me like I didn't just find out that shit. She was berating someone who was my girlfriend at the time, and would turn around a minute later to try to get with me. I won't get into the details like that, all my irls are bored to death of hearing about that story, and it's not only mine to tell anyways. All of that stuff, that relationship, that's the past.

It's weird shit like that, y'know? I can't do it with some of these people, man. If you want to flirt, that's fine, but have some object permanence about it. I can see that knife in your hand, y'know? I'm not gonna act like I don't see the blood on your fingers, tryna twirl your hair when you talk crazy to me.

You gotta have empathy in your heart, man. You can't just read the books, you can't just do the doctrine. Some of you guys quote Kapital like my grandparents quote the Bible. I want you to think about that for a minute. I'm not trying to be deep or anything, just something I've been thinking about.

I remember I posted on the gram about "call them anyways," I think that sort of mindset has become my mantra. There is just too much going on to throw yourself under the bus, right? There's a balance to it. My friend Gray has got a great outlook on keeping that balance, y'know. He's lowkey smarter than me, but let me not count myself out, lmao. I'll see you guys tommorow.

9/9/25 - It Makes Me Wonder

Every single person I come across in life is a window into another world. That which I do not know entices me, and it is that sort of curiosity that becomes caustic to my inner peace. But that never stops me... the company of strangers never ceases to be entertaining. The journey of learning what I can never understand doesn't make me sad anymore, you know. I'm learning to enjoy the impermanence of it all. If anything, it's creating a new sort of vice to deal with, a new sort of avoidance that I will now be diligent in preventing.

What I'm saving up for has changed from what it used to be, you know? I am still saving up for the lease, don't get me wrong, but now... I don't want to do a big trip. I'm looking into backpacking; I think that I might stick it out even longer to accumulate some vacation hours. Or maybe not even that. Maybe I'll skip the working stiff thing for a minute.

Bannnnd on the run, Bannnnd on the run...

That's the song I'm listening to right now. Since writing that, I'm now listening to Glory Box. This particular song by Portishead is a big influence on the current sound, y'know. There's a sort of pain, a kind of desperation and anxiety in that song that is so palpable, it's everything this project needs to be. Trip hop as a scene is so bizarre to think about, but I can't shake it's hold on me.

Bobby James is a song that completely enraptures my senses every time I hear it. I don't see how anyone could hate that song, how anyone could possibly not like N.E.R.D. Not Pharrell, I said N.E.R.D.

Yesterday I was tweaking some parts of Judy. I'm not sure about that one. I'll still include it, but I'm gonna revisit it in a few months. A few months, a few months, it's a good leeway. I'm probably not gonna have Hepburn done by the end of this year, it might be mid 2027. That's right, guys. Ha1f King might be in deep development mode for a long time, that'll just be how it is for a moment.

On my own, on my own, on my own. Putting my hands on the side of my head, focusing myself in the realm of the lay. I enjoy talking to some of my coworkers, they're incredible people in ways they'll never admit to. 

I saw myself in the mirror at work and started to realize how different I look now, y'know? I'm starting to realize why so many of the old people are so warm towards me in particular, I think they think I'm 16 or something like that. In case some of my readers don't know me personally, I am 23 years old. Still very young but... I won't lie guys, I DO use this naivety to my advantage sometimes to get them to leave me alone. Maybe I am evil, who knows?

D'ya know they don't actually allow me to write these at work? Tragic.

Ibrahim has just been blessed with a child, you know... so many wonderful things happen every day. The colluding forces of hatred and greed work so hard to convince us that these things don't matter. Stuff like this, it's everything. To assemble our efforts like this, to create the conditions where beauty can flourish, that is the key. A newborn child deserves safety, food, and peace. How many in our government, Israel's government, or in any firm or organization seek so desperately to deny us the gift of miracles such as this?

It's... whatever, man. I'm gonna keep making good shit happen, you know what I mean?

I have the eyeliner on; I'm working to get it back, slowly. I'm seeing what about myself I need, what about myself don't I need. And in my heart of hearts, I realized... I feel naked without my little lion marks. So sorry to the lineage of straight people in my family, but the bloodline might end here.

I'm not smoking anymore! So now my throat doesn't feel like death. I might try it occasionally, if offered, but I'm not gonna be doing that on my own I don't think. I have to clarify, I'm talking about carts here, not cigarettes. I haven't played Trumpet in several years, so if I smoked a cigarette, I think I would die on the spot, like a Half Life NPC. To all of God's strongest soldiers who smoke cigarettes, I salute you. Hopefully you make head chef one day.

How superficial can I be, how many multitudes can I contain? So much of why I'm feeling better is because somebody hot is at work today. Being surrounded by hot people, it's like being covered in a blanket from God. This is what Jesus did with the disciples, you have to understand.

I forgot to do an ending for this one. Have a good one!

9/8/2025 - Tout Doucement

 "Toujours, tout doux, tout doucement

Comme ça la vie c'est épatant..."

That song from Blossom Dearie is in my ears again. Jazz has a way of snaking into my memories; it's like the primordial soup from which uncertainty crawls out of. I think of Blossom Dearie when I think of being in over my head, making peace with a level of confusion too twisted up to even stress over. 

The thing is, it has nothing to do with the actual song lyrics. Tout doucement is about, well, "loving." It means "very slowly," and so I guess one could say it is kind of like that song Despacito...

That's my joke for this one. Not my best material, I'll admit.

I used to have Blue in Green warbling in my brain every day when I lived on campus. There was a useful kind of malaise that song. Miles' trumpet has a certain mood to it that makes it easy to backslide into some really somber stuff, y'know. Jazz, in my mind, has to remain the fundamental base particle of my understanding of music. It's not just the nuts and bolts, it's more like the bozons, quarks, nuons and gluons. It's not something seen with the naked eye; it's something fundamental.

Today, I'm thinking about jazz, and it's really because I'm thinking about myself. I remember when I used to play trumpet in the jazz band at Groves. I do really miss having a Trumpet, I should have stolen that one I kept at home. When I brought it back to the school, my teacher confessed that he did NOT know that Trumpet was in my possession. He told me I could have kept it with me forever, and he would have never known it was gone. It had a red case that was sort of broken, I found it sort of lying on the floor of the band room storage. I cleaned it up so I could play, actually. That's how much money these white people districts have got, you have to understand. They can afford to just give away several hundreds of dollars' worth of equipment.

So ... yeah, I have a history of fumbling the bag through a self-inflicted curse of "integrity."

All last week, in the corners of my mind I keep having these names repeat over, and over, and over. Not always attached to any songs themselves, you know? Errol Gardner, Charles Mingus, Herbie Hancock. I was listening to Fela Kuti on the way to the second day of the USPCN Conference.

It's weird because, I don't necessarily think of myself as a jazz person, per se, but it is fundamental to what I've grown into. Last week I remembered coming back from work and hearing dad spin some John Coltrane, but it wasn't one of the records I got for him, I think.

I remember watching that new doc about Ms. Rachel. Lindsay's perspective on this genocide opened the door to a lot of memories about my studies in undergrad, most notably what she went over regarding the Rwandan genocide. I think about how easy it is to get into that mindset of dehumanization, y'know. I think that's the scariest part of it all to me. When you really talk to someone who is more complicit in this stuff, you start to understand how... I guess I should say, weak minded, a lot of laypeople can really be about this stuff. It's just so, bizarre to me. 

There was an idea that the average person of the modern world, today, would have chosen to act in the scenario in which a holocaust happened in their lifetime. This has always been flagrantly not true, we know this, but I have to say... is there nothing that will convince the average Joe Shmo that he should care about kids being blown apart in Gaza? That he should care about child slaves in Congo? That he should speak against UAE supported mass rapes in Sudan? There is no amount of suffering these people can go through that will endear them in the hearts of most laypeople, it seems like. Y'know, because it's not aesthetically consistent with their curated aura to care about something bigger than themselves, for a lot of people. I think that when dealing with Americans, some people have to understand that most of us can't really see beyond creature comforts, superficial ideas of what a "kitchen table" issue is really about.

Remember how many people voted for Trump who claimed they just wanted to see prices go down? It's that kind of stupid. The kind of stupid that's almost impossible to fix. If you say out loud, to their face, that they had the ability to do something great, to stand against a holocaust, and they actively chose not to, despite it being well within their ability... that wouldn't even get them to act. They would just get mad that you ruined their fun. That's what it is for a lot of people. There are many people out there who are only endeared towards foreign people if they can be convinced that they're exactly like them. Y'know, they've got to make a movie or a meme or a product that's interesting enough to make the American mind perceive them as actual people. Treatlerites, the lot of us. Think about what happened with Ukraine, how many people just don't really give a shit about that anymore. Real people are still dying in that war, you know? There was a feigned sense of empathy many Americans had for the plight of a nation in need, not motivated by a desire to defend the humanity of all people. No, I don't even have to say it. You already know exactly what I mean. So much of what this culture values are just skin deep.

Think about how a lot of Zionists and Israelis alike would say, "Name one invention from Palestine," or something like, "There is not one reputable person in Gaza," bullshit like that.

It's this sort of meathead dehumanization. Setting aside the fact that there are many inventions and influential figures from Palestine throughout history, the very idea that the humanity of a people should be validated by how many iPhones they've invented is just... we really are primates, aren't we? Just apes, with very sophisticated ways of flinging shit at each other. We might have fusion reactors and international space stations, but maybe the reality that our peak does not define our whole can be seen in an examination that is not solely "positive."

Breaking from topic for a bit to just say that, sometimes at work, you encounter people who are just... not intelligent. At all. Like, the information I just gave you should cover everything you are asking me about. I try not to be this kind of person, but good golly, good grief. They let some of these people vote, you have to understand. That's why he's president; it's a dumbass on every block.

I am thinking about what I posted yesterday. This isn't that bad, but it is boring. I think maybe I just came on a particularly boring, slow day at work. I am the only Rec Leader here, it's weird. It's just me and my supervisor. Despite being late, it seems like we're getting along better today. There have been a lot of very dull or irritating customers today, but I'm handling it better given my current mission I'm putting myself through. Head on straight, locking in!

Hepburn is still happening, despite my objections to my own project. I must apologize to the defeated, bitter Brielle from yesterday, but this is just too fun, too interesting to throw away. As much as there are parts of myself that I feel like are hard to love, I can't deny how much I enjoy all of the things that characterize my interests, y'know? My eye has been drawn so heavily to kitsch lately, as a design language. Pop artists, graphics, shock jocks and punk rockers.

"Oh, everybody goes to parties...

They dance this mess around!
They do all sixteen dances!
They do the Shu-ga-loo... do the Shyyyyyyy Tuna... Do the Camel Walk, do the Hip O Crit, ahhhhh, hippy-hippy-forward-hippy-hippy-hippy-hippy-hippy-SHAKE..."

But you wanna know what is in my head non-stop, since 2 weeks ago? It's that Donna Summer song they used to play at Starbucks. It's not the one you're thinking of, no... it's they said it really loud, they SAID it on the AIR, on the radio, ooowhoaaaaaahhh, on the radio, ooowhoaaaaaahhh...

Last night I was tweaking track 6 of the album, called Judy. Initially it was gonna be a quicker paced sort of thing, that kind of punk. What I ended up doing was more Lou Reed meets Chipmunks on 16 Speed than Patti Smith, y'know. It's funny, cause what I was using as inspiration for my work yesterday was the gallery book I got, called Before, EASTER, After. I was, ironically, listening to Horses instead of Easter just the day before, cause I'm a fraud luddite (joking).

I think the next bag I'll dip into is Strawberry Alarm Clock, The Doors, Revolver era George Harrison, y'know. Psychedelic rock is what I mean. I would work in some Jimi, and maybe Jefferson if I really wanted to, but I'm not in that side of the bag right now, I think. I was in some Destroy All Monsters stuff last project, and I was thinking of, but did not emulate, Bob Dylan. I don't think I have the vocal quality necessary to do that.

Work got in the way for a sec, lemme remember what I was thinking about.

I'm up thinking about Fire Walk With Me again. Lynch has such an impactful method of winning over the senses; watching his stuff makes me feel like I'm living a different life. Experiencing the ballad of Laura Palmer through each incarnation of Twin Peaks really warps the senses and frays the nerves, y'know. It's a psychological malaise that infects my lexicon, everything about the warmth of tenderness and the chill of abuse feels more intense with such a fantasy on my mind.

Now I'm home, and I'm feeling fairly relaxed. Im gonna chill out for a second, and I might do a video update today. I'll see you in a bit.