2-weeks of temporary storage.
2 weeks of couch crashing

I don’t have any money, and I’m gonna need that for even a room to stay.

Permanent status:

  • Job/income
  • Shop/studio space
  • Office space
  • Sleeping space
  • Parking space

I suspect one place could house all of these permanently, but in the short term, I don’t have anything.  As I will transport myself mainly by bicycle, I shouldn’t need much, either.  A place within walking distance to a good busking spot would be ideal.

I make commercials for everyone.  Well, more for people who don’t get recognition from “the other guys.”  The only party in town.  Oh, sure, they make you think they’re different parties, but deep down, where it matters, apart from the distractions and oddly forced wedges, is the sameness.  There are lots of brands to choose from, but only one bank.

I call monopoly!  What does that matter.  Gatekeepers en guarde!  Those old gatekeepers barely have a foothold any more.  Knock off the fucking attacking, now.  It’s all subcontractors and agents acting on behalf of.  I suppose the lawyers never do show up to sign documents before the bombs, though, eh?  When “I’m bigger and meaner” is your only argument, there isn’t really a “moral,” let alone a “high ground.”  Death by your tax dollar.  Death delivered by fuel and steel, steered by cooperating humans.  You see all of these things around you, you know all of this, yet you remain frozen in fear.  Then, I run into you, you stumble back, but aware now.  Hi.  Nice to keep meeting you, no no need to remind me of your condition.  Stop feeding it.  Grow/generate/cooperate.

I am the tool builder.

Dude, this is my new favorite album.  “Barrels, Buckets And Boxes” by Total Platitude.  This year.  Twenty Eleven.  Fuckin’ killer.  Gentle smack church.

I recorded audio earlier.  Little guitar, little harmonica, little laughter.  Random.  I know.

Have I been permanently banished?  How does this work?  Well, maybe you should talk, think, or act about sex more often, then.  What the fuck.  I don’t know anything.  I’m not authorized to speak about anything by anybody’s fucking association or board of directors or trustees.  I’ve never controlled a budget.  Never found an ethical way to raise capital that anyone contributed to.  Oh they care.  I’ve starved loved and cared for.

Google Translate lolz:

“Comrade Kim Il Sung, Juche-oriented revolution, he donated money to the United States, sigo construction projects in various stages of social revolution and wisely, the People’s Republic of leadership you want to pop over to the center of the socialist countries, often, self-reliance, we should strengthen and develop into a socialist state of masturbation, respectively.”

There has got to be a better translation of that.  No way is that the constitution.

That’s gonna be my political party, or religion, whatever.  Genderfuck.  What’s the non-politically-correct way to say I like sticking my penis in gentle and willing vaginas?  Genderfuck.

It’s late Friday night, 11:39 pm.  I got done in the shop about 20 minutes ago.  I made 14 pyramids and a cube.  I also spent 5 hours painting two doors and a jam.  These are some tall pyramids, mind you.  Of course, they’re tactile pyramids made of wood.  The grain is amazing.  I think they’re beautiful.  I hope someone wants to buy them.

I just watched my newest video.  It’s no wonder I puked after that.  Spinning about like a top off a string.  Sheesh.

I couldn’t find the lyrics.  I had to use, but it worked.

It’s a pretty typical LazyAssWasteoid production, if I do say so myself.

So, yeah.  I don’t know how friendships work.  I need a place to crash and a place to put my crap, but I don’t even know how to ask.

You’re never going to see me again either way.

Posted late. Whatever.

~ by LazyAssWasteoid on 2011-04-14 (Thursday).

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