on the fourth of july, i always find myself posting lyrics from Baby I'm an Anarchist and when i get a new tattoo, Trio always finds its way onto the internet.
I forgot how much certain parts of the body hurt when a weird blade is slicing up the skin in every direction, and learned of new parts that hurt even worse: the nipple's surrounding area, the middle of the fucking chest, and anywhere near an armpit. I am a crumpled up ball of exhausted, excited, and completely sick of waiting for things.
Now it's time for beers with Corey.
PS. One more Blink cover down. Two more to go. Even when I'm unproductive at this house all alone, I am still productive. The lonely home also allows me to listen to the music i've made without feeling self-absorbed or pretentious. Gregg Demarke made a really fucking wonderful recording of our shitty songs, and i wish we would have done something with his hard work instead of letting it sit on a total of eight or nine computers.