was looking at our 15-year old little teenage gangster neighbor through my bedrrom window earlier. it was quite a scene--he was sitting in one of those cheap lawn chairs with his shirt off with all his chickens walking around him pecking at the ground. he was smoking a cigarette and ashing into this yellow bucket they have tied to the fence, and just staring at nothing. a penny for what was going through that troubled youth's mind. it would have made a nice abstract black-and-white picture if i had a camera, if i could somehow have fanagled a romantic aura from this little heathen and his chickens.
those foul and their pre-dawn yodling, incidentally, are the reason i don't leave my windows open at night. i think they have cockfights on saturday nights, so tonight i may make an exception.
also, i'm emotionally exhausted from having to deal with myself so much these days. i don't even know what that means.
i rented this movie called spun that sucked. it dealt with the lives of meth addicts/makers. i thought it would be good since jason schwartzman was in it and rushmore is one of my favorite movies. but it wasn't good. it sucked.
album du jour: kitchens of distinction the death of cool
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