Your God Damn Journal

As a young lad, I would have a thought and just shout it.  Say it.  Speak it.  Spit that shit.  Then came my obsession with Journaling.  Anything I thought, I would write in my Journal.  And if I didn't have my Journal, then I would write it on a photograph.  Or a post-it.  Or a phonebook cover.  Then I would staple or tape or glue that foreign object into my Journal.  Once when I was 20, I left my Journal in another city for 2 weeks.  I felt like my baby was stuck in a hotel a county away.  So I transformed a notebook I had into Makeshift Harold and chronocled my goings on in him for a while until I got my baby back.  But after a while, I stopped Journaling so much.  There was a gap where I went back to just shouting.  Then came e-mailing.  I like creating long stupid e-mails and sending them to everyone in my contacts list.  That was a hoot.  Then came texting.  More one-on-oneness.  But I soon felt that I wasn't hitting a large enough sampling of people and I had tired of hand-picking them.  That's where the Facebook status update came in.  I chose my moments carefully, but I like throwin' shit out there.  It was gold, even if no one "Liked" it.  But of course, I have forsookinded Facebook and now I have this shite blog.  Now when I think of something, I think "I should put it there."  Meanwhile, I don't talk to anyone and my Journal hasn't been touched in weeks.  I'm a god damn sellout.  I'm the type of person who would forget the little guy if I ever hit it big.

What a dick.

"What's up, Fatlip?"
"Coolin'."

-LS^2

"Our brains won't fail E'ER!"

-Bakester, Sparko & I, September, 2002

Marco and I wrenchin' hard.

Ken's encouragement immortalized above.

Christmaswrench, 2003.

photo: Matt Mallams

PA Lucas de los Tres Amigos.

Documenting the disorder.

More wrenchin' was done in that
apartment than anywhere else e'er.

Note my trademark half-shaved face.

A page from my muse, Mr. Matt Mallams.

Click for

"What's Up, Fatlip?"