More of a diary than anything else.

I've been referring to the season as PUNK AS FUCK SUMMER 2K9 since before it got warm out. Maybe I'm wrong. It's still more uber-social than antisocial, and I can't remember the last time I went to a show with a guitar (but maybe guitars are more part of the structure that threatens to/already has killed the word/genre/lifestyle, as much as any of those things really can die)

It could just as well be called the summer of rugged cliches.
Bike rides, tattoos, drugs and malt liquors, late nights and train tracks, trespassing and cavorting with bums and harlots. Even a couple fights, but it's all been done before. I'm not upending the status quo or anything.

I'm still a work horse. I'm still working for the system. A couple of systems really.

But I'm in love, for what it's worth and for all the pain it causes me, and I'm pretty sure I'm enjoying life. Wow.