sandwich

Feel like creating something, but I am hellishly out of practice in the sketching department, and my wordy muse is nowhere to be found, so I'm settling on a boring image that is roughly familiar to nearly everybody I know.
Having been holed up for about two days, I feel myself sinking into that treacherous brain-space which lives on lazy, binge-like behavior that is nobody's business but my own. I wouldn't say I have done nothing, but it's not much. I've got self-inflicted obligations waiting for me around the corner, though - all clean and dressed and pretty, I will be leaving the premises before long. As much as I ache for the beautiful people out there, there is a part of me reluctant to abandon this comforting place. Ya know. Home.
So excuse my uninterested, tedious prattling. I am bathing in nostalgia and I like it.

There is something to be said about being the only human being in the house, being lulled by the rain outside; happily indulging in very impressive graphic novels, both story-line & art-work wise; typing with one hand because the cat is lying on the other..

 "yaas."

The Antlers - Hospice

images galore

I had the loveliest of trips fri-to-sat. Ed and I set out on our adventure after the sweatiest band practice I've ever had the pleasure of experiencing, being the lucky ones of the evening and receiving the one room without ventilation.
So, acid. The taste was as bitter as the feelings intense. Music came in waves and made me feel like I was holding on for dear life. Goddamn you, Godspeed You!
We were out of sync, which was interesting, seeing as each got to observe the heights of the other from a saner standpoint. We had laughter and owl-demons on walls, and sound mutilations and strawberry ice cream, straight from the box, in the safe haven that is the sofa-bed. One thing we agreed on was that it didn't seem as cold as it usually does.

We were playing it pretty safe, but interesting stuff is always bound to happen, amirite? We had ventured downstairs with sober Pete and encountered some fellow drunken neighbors who were having a party of some sort on the second floor. My cat-friend was there, too - this gray & white little puss that hangs around that front yard from time to time. I'm pretty sure she's either lost of has been abandoned, 'cause she wears this dirty yellow collar and has pretty much adopted that yard, which often houses a very comfy motorcycle I've found her curled up on more than once. She's pretty dirty herself, but, oh, is she ever so sweet.
Our dear neighbors were exceedingly friendly, and Pete fucked off to Chomsky, so what we did, naturally, was join the festivities for a bit. Had some punch, played some Mortal Combat on Sega. Brief and blissful. Not sure if anyone suspected our disposition, but conversation was smooth enough, and they were probably too drunk to care anyway.

Towards the end, we had some obligatory existential conversation, actually went outside and had breakfast in the park, after which the fatigue started kicking in for real. Watched some very odd videos accompanied by a bottle of Lambrusco (of all things), and finally nodded off after 33 hours of no sleep, which was, in turn, remedied by 14 hours of that shit.

The picture above features the blueberries Ed brought back to me after his little nature hike in Mordanga. Mostly unrelated to more recent events.