Continuing from that last post. Being able to see Iron Maiden/Rush/Pink Floyd/Led Zeppelin/The Beatles/Queen/The Rolling Stones would be outstanding. There’s no band in recent memory that would be worth 1/10 as much as those bands would be worth seeing.

Because the Postal Service sucks ass but this is absolutely awesome.

(Source: fantasymuffler, via thedarkplumber)

I want to write.

I really do. I have all of these interesting ideas and fun things but I get writers block before I’m even in the process of writing it. I get brainstormers block.

I can’t fucking handle it.

I’ve been crumbling for two god damn days now. I’m fucking falling apart, I’m losing my mind, I don’t want to be alive but I’m too afraid to die, and the only person in the world who I actually counted on to care about me is too concerned with other shit to talk to me when I absolutely need them the most. Maybe I’m asking too much. Fuck it. I’ll hold myself together. I’ll pick up the pieces by myself. I’ll fucking fight and tear and scratch until I’m not such a fucking mess. I don’t need your help. You couldn’t offer it when I did.

I feel so stereotypical saying this.. But music from the 60s/70s/80s will always be better than today’s music.

coyote-with-sunglasses:

The Nightman Cometh

My insanely fun dream.

Considering turning it into a story, but ya know, I lack the motivation after today.

My girlfriend and I were walking down this slummy ass street, and we see two guys arguing. I’ll refer to them as Blonde and Brown. As we get closer, Blonde starts beating the holy high Hell out of Brown. He then grabs a bat, and basically turns his head into pulp. Then takes some of the blood, and puts it on his face like war paint. I’m in shock and just kind of yell “You fucking killed him!” to which Blonde replied “Yeah?” and smiled. Crazy eyes, untamed beard, blood dripping down from the “paint”, and a huge, toothy smile. So I grab my girlfriends hand and haul ass to the first open door, which happened to be a stereotypical slummy, flickering fluorescent lighting motel. I kick in the first door I get to, swing it shut, lock and barricade it off. We open the blinds to reveal some barred up windows, and looking through the bars we see pretty much the entire town go insane. Everyone is either beating each other without mercy, or setting things afire with Molotov’s. Through all of this chaos, I just keep seeing Blonde with this huge smile on his face, staring at us. I’m pretty much unable to talk, and my girlfriend had just kind of disappeared at that point. I remember the whole thing kind of panning out and seeing myself looking out the window with yellow and purple neon lights flickering off my face and seeing the motel in flames, and then I woke up.

Since March began.

My girlfriend and I almost broke up. My bank account got compromised and I lost quite a bit of money. My great grandma passed away. Found out my mom’s spine and hip are deteriorating. My car just broke down too. Fucking bring it April.