I’m feeling relatively good today. Sober and nervous, but good. The day is shiny like a new dime. No ginger ale on the brain yet.

The cut on my tummy is healing up nicely—thx for asking. It’s a little sticky and there are a few fuzzy blue threads stuck in it from the Paul Frank t-shirt that Sterling loaned me. I was changing the bandage and I fell asleep on the couch. Damn percostat. Well, actually I shouldn’t curse them because there aren’t anymore left. Gone, deceased, and you know you can’t talk bad about the dead. It’s bad enough to take drugs and not be any good at it, but it’s somehow even worse when the drugs are all gone. Then the only thing you can do to make yourself feel better is read about others in the same boat. Or better yet others who are in an even dingier floating poop scoop. Like folks who are addicted to club drugs. Har-de-har.

Sometimes I think about the other half, those who have their shit together and get high and still get PAID. It must really be something, to be lit all the time and then get recognized as "the best at something." What a secret, golden triumph! Not only were you the best at something but you did it with half your brain tied behind your back.

Sterling asked me about posting the address to our brand new P.O. Box. I'll think about it. Originally I was going to only include it on the back of our paper zine. My goal is a legit mailing list, through which folks can trade art with us and receive our newest offerings. My fear is we'll have to deal with a ton of bullshit if I post the address online. I think the blog should lead people to the zine and the zine will lead people to the mailing list. That way, only the hardcore will get invited to our parties, hair cut sessions, porno shoots, etc.

But I want at least the pretense of democracy--so whuddy'all think?


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