I got three hours of sleep today. I felt worse when I woke up! It took me a few hours, but I'm leveling out right now.
I got a lot of work done on the zine, I think it's going to be done this week! Step one finished. I guess there's no point in hurrying, since I don't have money to print it yet. With school comin' it will be long time until I could afford it. (Plasma center.... haha just kidding, Cam.....maybe)

It would be rad if I could have it done by the time Marrow (ex-Greyskull, highly pivotal band for Provo kids, in many ways) comes through Portland. I can take a long time with step three. I'll be editing for a long time. Just the same, I want to have something to show for myself, and more specifically, Adam Barnes and Tony Wolfe, since they figure in, of course.

I have been reading a lot of it today, making minor alterations to the text. I can say, without ego, it is a wonderful story.

Punk breaks my heart, man. True story. There has never been so many reasons to believe, and there have never been so many defeats. "Martyrdom and Artifice", indeed! It's always so much "wish", you know? Wishes and dreams. I'm glad. I'd rather have broken dreams than none at all. I have been dreaming about Blake, the de facto subject or main character of the book, and he's a dead guy! I had two dreams, the first I've had in a very long time. I really fucking miss him, you know? Like all old injuries, you can trace the scar and you swear you can feel it again, like it was the day it happened. But the singular moment of losing someone is not nearly so painful as the years that they stay lost.

Guilty pleasures? Some have guilty pangs. I keep listening to old Jawbreaker, close the door and cry. Ache: "The people I love are spread so far apart....." and then, a couple songs later, same album, a song called In Sadding Around: "Sleeping off the last five years takes another five. Recovery in lieu of being here right now." The sting of truth, my friends. Fuck, that hurts.

I have this illusion that he would know just what to do, and we would fuck shit up, in total arrogant confidence. I sometimes feel like life is passing me by, that there's something important I need to see in three different places. I end up missing the moment entirely, and then it becomes a self-fulfilling reality. I know it's bullshit.

Being "free" from Utah (if only for this year, haha) has never felt so bittersweet. I hope I'm making the right decisions, but as I wrote earlier today, as a sort of "ending" for the zine, I only ever know what I'm doing after it's done. It's always easier to tell who you are in hindsight, rather than foresight. Future and past, that addition and subtraction of years, based completely (or is it?) on our decisions and circumstances, the sum of what a person is right NOW. Is it appropriate to use a balance of the two to reveal what you are right now, or do you disavow all of it, sit zazen and just be.... that guy sitting on a pillow, staring at the wall?

Fuck it. I don't think I understand. Art is meant to reveal, but when you pull the skin back, sometimes there's only more questions. These are the lines of questioning to which only music can soothe, another important facet of art. Drop the needle and shut the door. Side A, side B, repeat as necessary. The world awaits, and will be patient enough for a record listening session.