making art, baking cookies, discovering life.
i really like long weekends and nights filed with illegal parahphanaelia. listeing to over-played 90s and early 2000s songs and singing along. but not really singing. truly yelling. screaming. they are screaming at the top of their lungs. stumbling to the person in control of the iPod to request the next un-original over-popular song and then crunching empty beer cans on the hard wood floor on the way back to whatever platform that can be sat upon. please. lets all sing along. we are all smiling our fucking faces off, and its the best feeling. my ears are ringing, but its awesome. banging the unstable, under-sized round table that we are all gathered around. lifting their pinkies as they gulp down cheap liquor mixed drinks and even cheaper beer. and then, its time for a smoke break. which lasts only long enough for the “cool cigarette smokers” to inhale a stick and then “more high school music!” and we are back around the table. slowly crashing
i’m squinting to check my spelling. “how bizare. how bizare, how bizare”
