Solitude. Hawkwind. Writing. Peace.

My trusty warhorse, the Blue Bastard, goes off to the scrapyard today, a victim of bureaucracy, thieves, and vandals. A hearty "fuck off and die" to Texas DPS regulations and everyone else who stood in the way of my car taking its proper place on the road, and my thanks to those who knew what the Blue Bastard was really about.

See you in V-6 Valhalla, Blue Bastard. Until then, things will be, as the sticker on your back windshield so casually proclaimed, "all right."

What a fucking week.

The bad news:
The Blue Bastard is gonna end up being sold and replaced with another car sometime soon. Stupid bureaucracy.

The fucking awful news:
Sara called me yesterday to tell me that she was going into the hospital. The doctors think she may have Guillen-Barre Syndrome, which is a neurological disorder that can cause paralysis. Thankfully, the paralysis isn't necessarily permanent, and she may walk away pretty much unscathed. I ask everyone to keep her in their thoughts and prayers. It's all that can be done at this point, I reckon.

It's a bit behind schedule, but it's time for ku ding tea, a cold burrito, the X-Files, and either falling asleep on the couch until 3 PM or crawling into bed at 10 AM after I wake up on the couch, horribly disoriented.

Let's do it.

"Leave the tired world behind."

It's been a good weekend, if you ignore the ever-growing shitstorm surrounding my transportation situation. Alas, I'm beat, so it's time to read some Coleridge and Castles of Steel and hit the sack. The dread spectre of work will solidify in thirteen hours, and I need to rest up in order to fight back.

Apologies for the silence lately. I'd like to say I've been writing, but I've really been hanging out with Lisa, Bridget, and Chris (fine folks all, especially brain-using, balisong-wielding, metal-listening Lisa, but I don't mean that as any sort of disrespect to the others) and playing The Longest Journey, at long last. My brother bought it years ago, and I really wanted to play it, but the appearance of a new girlfriend kept me from doing so. No, not because she gave me shit about playing computer games, but because I didn't want to alienate poor Sara immediately by spending my time directing a rather foxy girl around the screen for days on end. Even I'm not that callous.

I'm heading up to see two of the finest men I've ever met this weekend. That's right: my pops and my uncle. Come Saturday, I'll be in the Piney Woods, shooting the shit, drinking coffee, staring at the stars, blasting holes in a tree with my Kalashnikov, reading history books I'd usually never pick up, and, in the small hours, giving myself writer's cramp as I crank out notes for my next book.

Life is good.

Addendum: The new Dark Tranquillity and (I may have mentioned this already, but fuck it) High on Fire records are worth every motherfucking penny. Personally, I'm in awe at how well the albums compliment each other when your mood changes after a few songs. Metal uber alles.

Another one of those mornings where I'm awake and don't really want to be. I hope I don't sleep too damned late, since I've got shit to do tomorrow.

This morning, my brother noted this morning that he's got tentative plans to move out this summer. I can't blame him; I know that (in no particular order) my ferrets and habits get on his nerves fairly often. I myself have daydreamed lately, usually while walking around Montrose, of finding a place of my own, which I will populate with the handful of material goods I call my own, the ferrets, empty tallboys, and music.

I'm not looking forward to the possibility of moving again. I'm tired of it. Maybe this is my chance to just hotfoot my ass somewhere else, though I sure as hell ain't gonna bet on it.

At least he mentioned it sooner than later, so I have some time to dig up a new address and, if need be, a roommate.

Other than that: I can't wait for warmer weather, my car to get out of the shop, my eventual trip to Mexico City, and this weekend.

Life is all right. True believers know how to apply the proper inflection to the last two words of that phrase.

Sweet Gnostic God Who Reigns Beyond the Grasp of the Demiurge, the new High on Fire record is amazing. I'm gonna have "Sons of Thunder" played at my funeral, which I will have to rearrange in order to do justice to this song.