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I've hung out with people that have believed some really strange things. I might even hold on to some alternative ideas. But if you sincerely believe that the earth is flat; that the whole world has been covering up the fact that it is. That is is a MASSIVE conspiracy; that the Governments of the whole world are covering this flat earth up (for whatever reason) ; that there is a "dome" above us and that we can actually fall off the edge of the earth. If you can't understand mathematical principals, Photographic evidence, even such an easy thing as airplane fucking flight paths; Then you should sincerely find the edge that you claim is there and swiftly throw yourself off it. I wish I could find an edge myself to throw you off of. for fucks sake.





By the way...Airplanes and Nothin On You, would both be shit if it weren't for Hayley and Bruno Mars on them. Not that they're good anyway.

I'm silly and foolish and prideful and vain and eager and impulsive and mad and silent and different and indifferent and alone and unfocused and sad and selfish and apart and caged and indecent and cold.



I'm also available.

I drink Red wine. Light candles in the dark. And sit and watch horror movies. Holy shit. When did I become such a cliche?! Damn it's cold outside too.

So an ex is stalking me. For two years. It's not bad enough to call the police. But enough to be annoying. She has kids. Three of them. Three different fathers. I like children generally. I feel bad for them. She is fucking sick. I used to tell her. Then I stopped talking to her. She doesn't get the hint. This is getting ridiculous. Don't know what to do about it.....except drink red wine, light some candles, watch horror movies. Alone. Lol

I had first learned of David Bowie through my mother. Her influence on my musical tastes in my youth was very profound and lasting. Growing up; I was a permanent fixture near our living room stereo. This stereo opened up a plethora of sound and musicians that I was awestruck and inspired by. Among the forefront of such artists were David Bowie. My mother tells me of "the summer of 75" quite often; when she got to see him in all his wild, wiry, glory. She obviously had a crush on him and (I think) likes to see that I am more like a Bowie, then I am like my father. She'll never come out and say it, but she's overjoyed that I did not grow into a hulking, insensitive, brute of a man; qualities, that sadly, my father portrays more often then not. So I thank David Bowie for giving my mom a hero and giving her son a role model.