You are what you do, not what you say.

Breakfast of champions:

homemade pizza
and a big glass of milk
on the porch
during a thunderstorm.



I just finished the last of my shows
and this was the only picture
taken backstage.



I was too busy
to do anything else
except want to vomit.


Thanks to everyone that attended.

I thought about the hot spear of your voice.

I wonder if I will ever do anything right?
This is a serious question.



I took a xanax a couple hours ago
and it is definitely not working.

Somehow I managed to even fuck that up.




Don't worry,
she doesn't really want to kill herself.
This is just the hip thing to do.

Similar to when people take pictures of themselves
doing blow
shooting up
pointing a gun to their head
lying in a gutter
smoking meth/crack
holding a razor blade to a wrist
drinking rubbing alcohol
and
making out with a homeless man.

It's all out of fun.

Right?

For the dead.

"And then I felt sad because I realized that once people are broken in certain ways, they can't ever be fixed, and this is something nobody ever tells you when you are young and it never fails to surprise you as you grow older as you see the people in your life break one by one. You wonder when your turn is going to be, or if it's already happened."

Coupland.

In the gutters our stars decay.

Memorial day weekend is:


a. Fischerspooner and trannys.




b. Being stranded in downtown San Francisco and late night bus rides.




c. The beach and bros drinking Coors light.




d. Jonathan Davis's (of Korn) dj set and too many shots.




e. All of the above.

Life is a highway.

Look Mom.



And I know what year this was made,
because I go to college.
The painting I mean.



I've been falling behind
on this blog thing.
It's okay though,
because I don't care.

But I will start caring right now.

Turn the page.

My roommate drinks beer
in the shower.



If you see her at a bar,
tell her to "suck it."
And then buy her a shot.




It's graduation day.
Unfortunately, not for me,
but congratulations to all of you
out there.

There is still no cure for the common birthday.

Birthdays are the worst.
All hype
and lots of
disappointment.



Especially when your face
gets mauled
by a log.



I guess I can say the same thing about
christmas
easter
thanksgiving
halloween
st. patrick's day
new year's eve
valentine's day
earth day
groundhog day
april fool's day
cinco de mayo
labor day
memorial day
ash wednesday
martin luther king jr. day
super bowl sunday
friday nights
saturday nights
thursday nights
sunday fun day
president's day
good friday
and
columbus day.

Laughing without smiling.

Right now, I am studying for one of my last finals.
Earlier, I took my mother to see Star Trek
for Mother's Day.

Good.

Now, let's talk about
mustaches and romance.




Or, how I recently joined Lookbook,
an "international social experiment in style."
It's absurd and addicting.

Here is my latest look:




Hate that I sometimes feed into this bullshit.

The thing is...

I came home to this
stuck in my front door
a couple months ago.

It has been kept on the fridge since.





Oh,
I also got fired today.




Can't wait for the bills to start piling up.
Maybe I can make a super cute
collage out of them,
or something.

I'll frame it,
and then tell you
it means something.

Nothing is ever as you want it to be.

Today has been one of those days.
I think some may refer to it as a
"bad day."


I found this tacky self-portrait from last summer.
Since then, the roommates and I
painted the wall brown
and the couch caught on fire.





I’m standing on a line
between giving up
and seeing how much more
I can take.

Time is passing quickly but the months last forever and I lose track of the dates.

Killing time.





With
liquor in plastic bottles
concerts with old flames
friendships with old enemies
caring less about most
focusing on school.

But I still
think, think,
and worry.





Really,
though.

(I have learned the hard way
that I am not cut out
for most things).