Is there any other way?

I had two g's in my Wyrd hug... :-)

I need a hug.

This is an embarrassing subject to talk about, but I think it needs to be discussed. I think a lot of people have 'alone time' if you catch my drift. Eh? A little 'flog the dolphin'. Shaking hands with Abraham Lincoln, badminton shuffle in the backyard, spackling the drywall, thinking of Katri.... ummm, ahem. So anyway, the other night, I was busy, and I noticed this woman watching me through the window! I mean, DAMN, you think you are alone, and you are off in your own little world, and then you are ripped out of it and into the harsh reality that you are almost always being watched! So I just let this rude chick have it! Totally laying into her about my rights being violated, the common decency that seems to be lacking in today's world, especially amongst the teenagers, how she has no right to judge me, because I can only IMAGINE what she does in her private time. I mean, look at her! More facial piercings than body parts, tattoos all over her neck and arms, hair that looks like it was cut with a weed whacker, and styled with the help of a little Elmers glue. And she has the GALL to stand there looking at me like I am the weirdo, just because I was maybe moaning something about TJ's poker night and how much it excited me. Anyway, to make a long story short, I think we all know who came out the winner. She learned her lesson about inappropriate voyeurism, and I will never return to that Del Taco drive through.

I was brushing my teeth, and I noticed the toothpaste splatter on the mirror (we all have it, do you really expect me to believe you wipe it off after every time you brush?) looked like Jesus. Just a little section down by the right-hand corner, there He is. So I am staring at the toothpaste Christ, and I start brushing my tongue, and I gag myself. Hard enough to pull a damn muscle in the right of my neck! WTF ? I can lift and move around 150lb dining tables all day and be fine, but brushing my tongue sets a muscle off?

So, how are you?

Is it a little leopard-print box, with red velvet lining and tiny, perfectly carved figurines of Jesus and Buddha playing badminton?


No, I haven't seen it.

Wyrd, good thoughts going out. Hoping you feel better. You've always got friends here.

This moment of wondering why the hell anyone would want to take time out of their lives to read my thoughts on acid. My thoughts pertaining to acid, that is.

Don't go away. Stay and breathe with me. How often do you think of me?

I read an article about this guy, Aron Ralston, who cut his own right hand off because it was pinned beneath a half ton boulder. He was canyoneering alone, and it was a freak accident. He spent 6 days there, slowly dying of dehydration, before he finally did it. Breaking the bones in his arm by pulling against the rock, bowing his arm until they snapped. It was that or death. Reading that made me feel as though I have not really lived. I don't think my life has ever been in danger. Not that it takes risking death to mean you are alive, but ... does it? I have to find myself. I can't wait for the weather to cool off some, I miss Red Rock. Not that I am looking to get my hand stuck under a rock. That'd funk up my guitar and drum playing ability, I think.

Listening to a Dave Matthews show, and he's talking about his old days of tripping. I am not the drug type; I have never even smoked pot. But, for some reason I have always wanted to try acid. And it's a scary fucking drug, from what I hear, but there is this desire to know what it's all about. Fear and Loathing in Henderson. Maybe I've been thinking about it more lately because I canceled cable, and there is WAY more time to think about all kinds of things when the evils of television are not there to tempt you away from ... thought. I will probably never try acid. Tequila is good enough.