That’s what I needed, sorta, but what I found was even better. I made a t-bolt (cutting two slits in the head of a carriage bolt, and pointing the ends down to add two pointy grabbers, ala tee nuts) with an external wingnut (which will double as a strap holder) to fix my new/old guitar. I am going to wait until the glue cures fully before I tighten up the strings, though. Guitars are tense creatures. This one got some customization and tender loving care from me. The neck is now oiled wood rather than whatever plastic sealant they put on cheap guitar necks. The size of this thing makes me giggle. It’s tiny compared to my dreadnought.
9:04 pm. Guitar is loose strung. I am going to wait to tension it. Still. Looks purty, sounds like it’s gonna sound purty, too.
I have videos to do, huh.
I don’t feel like doing that now. I want to eat something.
“We are all infinite intelligence.” –Abraham-Hicks
“The less involved you are, the better parent you are.” –Abraham-Hicks (http://youtu.be/gs6EO03nU-8)
9:56 am, 4/24/11. not to be confused with anhedonia. Kentucky? No?? This album is so fucking great. I worked in a cubicle near the bassist. Killer lyrics. Killer song names. This band doesn’t exist any more (or not publicly, far as I know), but it’s one of my all-time favorites. Last time I saw them, Dave looked dejected. He said, heavy with sarcasm, “oh great, you’re here.” or something to that effect. My family and friends are the shit talkers. They’ll talk your ear off and make you want to smash your face into the sharp corner because that would feel better than your abusive “questioning” or “caring” or “helping.” You lie through your teeth about what you’re doing, you impede others, and you live vicariously. Name dropper. And which, more importantly. Talking about problems is the, let the beautiful bastards try. I forgive you. I rehash, I suppose. Deep down, I love everyone. Fuck, on the surface I love everyone. I’m far too sensitive to be anywhere near most of ya, though. Your mild ribbing rips my heart out. I can’t subject myself to that. I won’t let you subject yourself to it either.
Just said aloud, “I almost have a house. I almost have a huge, beautiful house.”
Now I was imagining how much fun I had during this past new year’s eve and the first few hours of 2011. Purely pleasant memories of new year’s eve. I think that’s a first. I’ve had my share of holidays already. I’ve talked in front of huge crowds already. I fucking blog and tweet. eShake my hand.
Dear internet. I am between projects, and require an income to participate meaningfully and peacefully in my intended home. Please assist/direct my attention if your recommendation or “it would be perfect for this job” crosses your thoughtsies. What, an excuse to talk to me is all. I leave those. When you’re ready is the perfect time to go/be there.
Toast mission (10:41 am)
They say the same hurtful, competitive, counter-productive thing, over and over. Preoccupation with, addiction to, whatever you call it, it inflicts pain on others. Pain. You physically diminish the energetic level when you demand that others listen to you diminish the energetic level. All criticism is.
It’s sunny and mostly clear today. I must get outside. Soon.
The useful knowledge I get from people is introduction to new or novel music, or learning how to do something that I didn’t know how to do before, or a little better than I did it before. This is all I remember of our time together. The fucked up shit we said to each other has been lost to the aether. I’m looking at something much larger now.
Well, I’m back, but it’s the next day already. Where does time go?
Suddenly, I’m like, no, no. You’re not allowed to be anything less than blissful, beautiful young lady. IM me. Say hello. You’ll have to e-mail me to get me to login at any given moment, but I have held IM convos for hours. I can’t guarantee smiles, but I think they’re common. What could someone such as myself do to help? I would give you a hug were I in the same room, or just stand by you so you don’t feel all alone wherever you’re standing. Think of that. There’s a strange, long-bearded, hobo-looking fellow, smiling, at you, asking what he can do to help. I bet, no matter what you tell me, I can find something in your story worth being happy about. I’m kind of a master at that. What the fuck is the point of focusing on some aspect of the whole that makes you not happy. Fuck that. I’m gonna think about the happiness-inducing shit. If I get drunk enough tonight, I might just finish the ice cream, too. Who said that?
Do what you gotta. I find that when I make myself available, I’m no longer needed. Oh, it’s available whenever I need it. No worries, then. I can get on with my life. Do the things that make me happy. Talk to the people who make me smile, laugh, and feel good. If you make them smile, sometimes they say thanks, or star your tweet.
I like to think that I, as a concept, am so poisonously “off-color,” that the only way people will dare associate themselves with me by admitting they read one of my tweets amongst the stream of thousands, let alone clicking on the star, is to be like pee your pants funny. My fucking tithe tweet made me laugh for about a minute when I sent it. Uncontrollable guffaws. I thought to myself, “30 stars, minimum.” Boot up, six. Lol. You fuckers have no senses of humorous. Like I always say, it’s a damn good thing I amuse myself, ‘cuz I’m sure as fuck not amusing anybody else.
I sew, too. I haven’t really tweeted any of my clothing customizations, have I… Hmm. I need an assistant. Setting the timer for every pictures of me is a pain in the ass. Some people want pictures of me.
I’m going to go take a picture of the bowl.
Here it is. My first bowl. Back up a few from there and you can see the guitar, too.
Pics are uploading. I had shown you this particular chunk of wood before. It’s a bowl now. I wouldn’t eat out of it just yet, unless you had to. Anyway, I’m sleepy.
Be excellent to each other.