I need to build a wall.

Bar, band, friends, friends of band, drinks, girls, psycho girl, pot, more pot...blaaaaaaah.  (of note:  I smoke pot wherever I go.  Dug out one hitter is key for bar tokes.)

Finally saw the dude I based this story I wrote about a few months ago. 

I was dead fuckin' on with that one.  Whatta loser.

Visited an artists studio after the bar, band...thing. 

Mellow note.

And so I sit here and reflect on the tides of my life,

seeking to wash my soul away.

I just...gotta' go. 

p.s.

There was this guy in the Bible.  I forget his name...

Anyway, the deal was that he would not die until the messiah returned.

So he lived like 900 fuckin' years.

He was like a rabbi or something.  And he lived like 900 years.

Every day.  Doing the same damn shit.  Because back then, they were all into keeping lamps lit and live animal sacrifice.

No hobbies.  No vacation time.  Nothing.

Imagine every day, begging God to kill you, and God actually communicates with you in some direct fashion, whether personally or through an intermediary, say some angel who lounges about every day with you, taking up space, never sleeping, keeping you awake at night because of his moving around your pad all the time, nominally sent to keep you company and your spirits up, because this isn't meant to be a punishment, but ends up as a mocking reminder of the soul extinguishing boredom of what your life has become?

That's funny.

Imagine that type of God.