Manic Times.

These last few days have been such a cluster fuck.

I'm still in Orange County. I'm currently typing this from my nephews bed in my sisters house. The room is decorated in stuffed animals, legos, game boy games, books we read when we were younger, and raiders stuff (his dad is a huge raiders fan). He's a lucky kid. My sister and his dad are taking care of him. He's not growing up like my sister and I did. I'm really glad that's the case. Innocence is a good thing to hold on to these days, it's the only thing you have. Once that's gone, you're as good as dead. When I look back at my life I tell my self I wouldn't have wanted to grow up any other way, but that's not true. I know it's not true. It's nothing personal against my mom or dad, I love them. But it could have been better. What's a childhood with out terrible memories though, right?

Regardless; I'm happy for this family. Love mine. But they'll be the death of me. That's why I'm in Santa Cruz and they're here.

There's really no point to this entree. I started to finally read "On The Road" by Kerouac. After my long hiatus on reading, I decided to start again but this time with "the greatest hits" of literature. I'm tired of reading about civilization, our cultures mistreatment of women, patriarchy, animal suffering, etc. Etc. I don't need to read that stuff anymore. I know how I feel about it. I don't need to read about it.

I'm currently listening to Morrissey: Years of Refusal.
Best record of 09. This man can not do a terrible record. Everything he's done, amazing. Hopefully I get to see him next month in Oakland. My life is really in need of that experience again.

Playlist since the last couple of days.

Swans - Burning World.
Morrissey - Years of Refusal.
Jets To Brazil - Perfecting Loneliness.
Depeche Mode - Sounds Of The Universe.