Dear everyone who is someone who is anyone


Nothing Amuses me anymore.


There is a bad taste in my mouth I cannot get rid of. The headaches I keep behind my eyes clap in approval. They cannot wait to be let out in the seventh hour, when I run out of water or patience or common sense.

Oh yes, this music business, these songwriting schemes, I have maybe three months more. Everyone thinks it is fucking rocket science, but it is only something to do when you are bored.

I should start taking things seriously, but I cannot take myself seriously. Oh stop stoppppp they keep saying that I say the same things over and over again.

That is just How It Goes. I am not sorry at all.


I played Clair de Lune on the piano today; it is such sentimental bullshit I could Die. I am going to play it like a goddamn washed up fifty-year old hotshot. I am going to play it like Holden fucking Caufield.

Oh stop. Stoppppp.


Kids, it is never going to stop.


Come on, let's act like the people we never really liked. Let's ruin everything. My words come in groups of threes and fives. My ideas come in coffee cups and tin cans. I am stretching my itching fingers.

If we are going to make a mess, we might as well make it big.