When one hits the bottle, the bottle hits back. This is a fact, and people tend to either enjoy it or slink away. Last night I did my best Hank Williams impersonation, inhaling half a bottle of bourbon -- left overs from caucus watching -- in about two hours; fell blind asleep on Luke's couch at 11pm after getting sick twice. Chasing the blackness again. Reminds me of college, the time when I was working on my show, drinking from a flask and taking generic caffeine pills.

Today was more relaxing. I stuck around Berkeley and played video games for about 7 hours. Reminds me of high school, the time when I was innocent.

Things are moving and changing a lot it seems. I'm missing something, but I don't know what it is. I haven't spoken to my man Mark in nigh on a month. I haven't really been able to let my hair down since the end of August. I miss making art and thinking philosophically and being more lustful for life.

Sometimes I think I'm trying to cram too much in too early. Hunter S. Thompson didn't become Hunter S. Thompson until he was in his late twenties. Sometimes I think I've not gone fast enough. It's hard to gague speed these days. Velocity is a principle life theme of mine, but somewhere in my maturation over the past few months I seem to have lost touch with that. More honest physical exercise is probably needed. More riding up and down hills.