Black x on the back of each hand, distracting from conflict over the fence, on the receiving end of a bar tab, built up because metal solos make you want drink lots of beer. Accumulate interest. The long hair flying in the wind like a freakish banner. These deserted streets. Walk over a bridge and a tall block down passing a sketchy but well-lit section of road parallel to the highway. Graffiti covers things and I can't prevent thoughts of gang affiliations and almost regretted leaving the apartment unarmed, due to the predicament. It would have been confiscated at the door. I would have to use on rock or cactus branch on the way back. Walking like a broken-legged horse towards its shotgun wedding in the shed. In a hole it dug for itself. Jazz chords in progressive rock albums. The musical gurus that shift perspectives with intricate and improvised ideas (the simple idea of recording live with only a couple of tracks, requires you to be a genius musician. Now there is a difference between a band good on record versus a band live. The energy might be different. Or less talent than the fabricated parts reveal. Vocalist stinks maybe.) A work day. A mariner's game. Lost by one point. Did not work out. Knocked out presentation project. Magazine. Talk to part of family. A fragment of one whole. All five of them sleeping in the bed near the broken sink. It was fucked off of the wall. Jokes and educational videos, show up to this improve show high and you get in for a fraction of the price. That's weird. Radar went flaring up. Hostile tension grows like a fungus. (The show is unmissable so I must sleep now and get all of my shit down beforehand.) Study you fiend. Read and review and rewrite. Make it happen. The sociological evidence and a concrete theory to test. Make it happen stud.
Anything of sociological importance about my experiences today at the art festival?
