Nick Drake makes me happy. Happy like a little boy. Happy like a little boy who has discovered that he can make the older men at the sauna very happy and then the boy wakes up years later lying on the floor of a motel room, nose bloodied but not as badly as some other parts of his anatomy and there is a pile of cash on the table and the motel night manager is banging on the door yelling about how he is going to call the police if he sees my...er...this boy's face around here again.

Why do I only seem to be interested in musicians who are dead, usually by suicide?

Nick Drake, Joy Division, Elliott Smith, the list goes on...

Another band which makes me happy is The Dresden Dolls, so if either member of The Dresden Dolls is reading this, then I would highly recommend that you check into a mental health facility. Based on what seems to happen to musicians I like, something ugly is in your future. But then again, Leonard Cohen seems to still be kicking around and he must be in his 70s.

I woke up this morning from a dream which I wont bother recounting here but it's one of those dreams that make you think that you've borrowed someone else's brain when you went to sleep. It was definitely an anxiety dream, but it seemed to be someone else's anxieties. I mean, I'm not married so why would I have a dream that is full of symbolism that is so obviously about a marriage falling apart?

Shaun of the Dead is playing this weekend. Guess where I'm going to be? Catching a matinee at the Loews Boston Common, that's where. Zombies! It got 92% on the TomatoMeter. If there is anyone in the Boston area who wants to go see this tomorrow morning or early afternoon, let me know. If not, you're all a bunch of fuckers and I'll never invite you to any social outing I organize ever again. Oh, who am I kidding... I never organize social outings so this is a totally empty threat, kind of like when they told me that if I didn't get to a hospital right away, the infection would spread to my brain and I'd suffer from paranoia and persecution delusions for the rest of my life.

I've made it from rank 142 to rank 19 on clix in less than a week, but I know we can do better! Remember, you can click on the link once every hour per IP address and have it count, so let's stuff the ballot box, people, and show those yokels that a bitter, old ogre who was once arrested for taking a shot at President McKinley can make it into the Top 10 diaries. God, I'm pathetic. Really, who the fuck cares who is in the Top 10. I mean, there isn't any money involved. Not that money is my sole motivating force. Power over my enemies would be good, too, but I wont get that either.

But go ahead and click because I pretty much have nothing but my pathetic little dreams.

Anyway, I didn't write anything last night besides a drunken diaryland entry. I'm really pissed at myself because of this. I need to stay focused or I'll end up being a bitter, old ogre. Oh, wait. Never mind.

That's about it for today, but I've been doing a ton of multiples, so maybe I'll update again later.

Reading
Wishing
Plotting