The Sock-Monkey As Alone

   1 Buddy holly - The Definitive Collection  Shrouded in legend is one of the best singer songwriters in history. Not fade away is the Great rock and roll song. Would have loved to have met this guy before he was famous, if only to kill the legend in my mind and see if he was really the conceptional genius that history made him. 2 Power Trip - Nightmare Logic. Executioners tax is THE heavy song of all time. I have always loved thrash metal but only have been a more casual fan till I got into this band. Riley Gale's voice is on the side of the angels and this is the sound of judgement day. 3 The wildhearts - renaissance man oasis meets motorhead what could go wrong? 4  Acid bath  - when the kite string pop at ounce really dumb and poetic, kind of my favorite record to go to when I want to feel like the kind of music I like has artistic merit.  5 Nicole Doppelganger - natural born losers White trashing is the most beautiful song in the English language. Waterloo sunset is a close

  I have canceled my pro-plan for Grammarly after four years. Not because I don't need it but because I can not afford it. So apologies if this is borderline unreadable.   We are at the end of another year. I will be thirty-three next year if my poor calculations are correct. Though I would not be surprised if some told me I was going to be thirty-four. Or, even thirty-five.   I am working on an album that I hope is further progress into the not-suck territory. While also plotting a novel. Which a dream I had changed the whole direction of that book (Yes I know dreams...)   I hope that this book (Spun Sugar is the working title) will be the catalyst for me to go back and finish the three or four others I have abandoned. Not cause I hated them. But, because I can't do the ideas justice.   I think I have relinquished my dream of being a comic artist. I lack the patience for the number of images that are required. To make them "good."   None of this

Sitting on his couch, this is Basel Walker. He has just woken up and sits scrolling through his notifications on his phone. They amount to several likes on social media from people he has never met and a message that he has an appointment on Friday with his therapist. He rubs his eyes, trying to get the night's dreams to leave. His poor shape laid back. Black circles like halos to terrors unknown wander around his apartment. When he looks in the mirror, those rings around his eyes always bother him.   He lives a sad life, but he is content. Living a life like this would bother most but, he feels he knows people deeply through the novels he reads and the videos essays he watches.   He loves the tube and the multitude of voices it brings to his world. The novels he enjoys are anything from old pulps to paperback originals from the nineteen seventies and eighties. However, it's is the tube where he hears voices—the ones of other human beings.   During the month, he g

Thinking about starting back on the books...but no promises. I keep losing my confidence as a writer of fiction. I refuse to make the world worst with my art. and have actively spent most of the last couple of months trying to find more constructive outlets. Those are less destructive to me and others, like painting miniatures and such.   My main problem has been that I don't want to leave negative graffiti on the walls of the universe just because I feel bad. It's not fair to the perfection of creation as lucid and straightforward as a diamond in its glory. I want to inspire people. Not make me into a laughing stock. I mean, technically, both give a kind of joy... but I really can't take much more psychological violence, even if it is self-inflicted.   I have spammed so much crappy art across the walls of the internet. That karmically, I feel like silence is a justified penance. So if it takes a while for those projects to be finished, then know that it may be fo