I'm not one for politics... But I just saw this and it is beyond ridiculous...

Mothertrucker I'm Huq. I don't need your respect, I don't need to make another album, bitch I ain't gotta do shit.

OOOOOOOOOO Yah.

    So, I've decided to tape myself typing screenplays. I'm going to upload the first (episode?) to Youtube... Its me writing a short script... Maybe some weirdo will find an interest in a person sitting at a computer typing for a half an hour.

    I'm typing this during the prelude theme to Lawrence of Arabia, on VHS bitches.  Are you kidding me?  Alec Guinness, Anthony Quinn, and Peter O'Toole?!  Not to mention the classic soundtrack.  They really don't make movies like they use to.

    Um... When is STP going to announce some more shows.

    My friend just told me of his recent opium tea experience and I think I will try it this weekend.  I have also decided to get the ball rolling on An Evening with Timothy Price.  I have an actor in place and location its perfect.  I'm excited, at seven pages it should be a great excercise.

Truly, for some men nothing is written unless THEY write it.

    I'm sitting at the counter of Veselka's eating a cup of borscht as two cooks bicker in front of me.  The only thing my ear picks up is the occasional "raaaaa."  One of the cooks stuffs his mouth with pickles, tiny pieces of green fly out of his mouth as he bellows.

    I take very slow and methodical bites of my soup, surveying the scene.  The skinnier cook has a wart on his head that doesn't sit well with my stomach... Chernobyl?  There is a very cute waitress that works here, she is not Ukrainian.  I listen to her complain about not having enough hours for the week.  She has to pay rent.  Her lipstick is bright red just like my soup.

    Today I read about Rothko.  Suicide.

    The waitress served me a few weeks ago.  Her face was hard to forget, she wore the same bright red lipstick.  It contrasted her dark, sunken, tired eyes. I came 3 am on a Sunday and had the same exact thing.  I take a second to contemplate where I'll go after this.

    Her complaining begins to annoy me; I regret sitting at the counter.

    There are two people on either side of me. The one on the right ordered a bowl of borscht.  To the left, a cup of borscht and a salad.  Perhaps they saw the waitress' lipstick too.  I scan the room to see if other patrons have also fell under the spell.

    The burley Ukrainian cook in front of me, who was eating pickles earlier, never stops moving.  He is exhausted and his face says it all.  He talks to himself in whispers and shakes his head slightly.  He is working the kitchen alone.

    I dig into my pocket and pull out a wad of crumpled one dollar bills.  I cut my credit card into six pieces today. I count the bills, eight, and there are no phantom fives or tens lurking about.  All feature the United States first president. One has a red stamp, "Ron Paul for President."

    The cook with the wart returns and my check arrives. Three dollars and seventy-nine cents.  I decide to leave five dollars after debating to leave six.  Before I leave I rescind my earlier decision.  Ron Paul had to go.

    What is it about...

    Couches... I am listening to Stone Temple Pilots Unplugged and acoustic.

    Close the 9 point gap.
 

D.A.N.C.E. The way you move is a mysteryyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy.

Concerts I want to see::::

April 22 - Tokyo Police Club - Bowery Ballroom. 

August 8 - 10 - All Points Music Fest (aKa the only show Radiohead is playing in NYC area)

I want to move to Los Angeles and becomea  jukebox hero 

I am interested in madness. I believe it is the biggest thing in the human race, and the most constant. How do you take away from a man his madness without also taking away his identity?

    I don't have much to say.
 

    Update:::: Now I do.

    I was taking a stroll home tonight and was thinking about what I've been doing the past month.  I also as reflecting on I've been writing about.  Everything has been related to death, despair, and loneliness.  Not the most uplifting subject material but let me say that it is well written material.  Anyway... This led me to wonder what has sparked this onslaught of depressing material and I realized I really don't have any friends at all.  No one that I really want to open up to completely; I realized I've never really had someone to talk to and this morose air around me has poured manifested itself on paper.  Everyone is apathetic.  Bring out the black eye liner, black clothing, and drugs.  I just think I need to leave this city and go somehere else for a break.  I was plotting on going to Paris on Tuesday for a week, but the laws of the land prevent me from pulling the trigger and I fear that if I go I would have to extend my visit into a full blown vacation.

    I hate the fact its 2:24 am.  I never have time for myself anymore. 

    And the best tap water goes to...