im good

im made some guitar designs that are nice and i want to fucking get it started. im in a good spot.

fuck fuck fuck

fuck writers block cant fucking think of anything and anything i do think of is fucking lame ......
fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.
fuck.
fuck.
fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.
fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.
fuck.fuck.
fuck.fuck.
fuck.fuck.
fuck.fuck.
fuck.fuck.
fuck.fuck.
fuck.fuck.
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fuck.fuck.
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fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.
fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.
fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.
fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.
fuck.
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fuck.
fuck.fuck.
fuck.
fuck.
fuck.fuck.
fuck.
fuck.
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fuck.
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fuck.
fuck.
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fuck.
fuck.
fuck.
fuck.
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fuck.
fuck.
fuck.
fuck.
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fuck.
fuck.fuck.
fuck.
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fuck.
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fuck.
fuck.fuck.
fuck.
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fuck.
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fuck.
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fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.
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fuck.
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fuck.
fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.
fuck.
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fuck.
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fuck.
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fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.
fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.
fuck.fuck.
fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.
fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.
fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.
fuck.fuck.
fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.
fuck.
fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.
fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.
fuck.fuck.
fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.
fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.
fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.
fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.
fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.
fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.
fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.
fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.
fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.

its been a long time coming

ive missed you bud.. been to bussy to mess around i cant believe you havent called me yet...but i know your phone is broke too. but whatevs
peace.
be back later munchkin

wilson

im crazy....i dont really care anymore to an extent were im dont like setting here like doing nothing...i need to find something to do....i dont think im depressed ive been there and its not that. maybe its because im bored i have a slight feeling of depression. just the thought of not having someone to do something with or sit with and enjoy life...no one wants a FATASS. idk what to do anymore....sorry that my latest post is whining to you wilson. but thank you . for listenin.
love ya buddy.
peace.

that last one wasnt for you lindsey

hahah

i need a job

fucker o yea i laugh at you that you were braggin that your getting a macbook but you failed the test down with that plan.
hahahahahahahahaha
no cpk
damn you

Gooooodmorning

lindz, via Germany....a place on the map somewhere across the atlantic or across the pacific and through asia and russia and shit....its dark here and im tired but i cant sleep sooooo idk what to do....hopefully you see this and i dont look like an idiot but as you can see from what ive put up on here already and talking to wilson my dog that likes oscar. cant wait for you to get home and to explore flagstaff with you...goodmoring to you and goodnite to me..
you tooo wilson.

im behind

i dont now what to do. i want to record but its to late and im behind on this thing called life. i dont now what to do....maybe i will right. ive been coming up with stories now but like there kinda like horror stories and it creeps me out like fucking,"wtf why am i thinking this." and i really dont want to right it down because like it might be creeperererererer if you know whats i means. but yea i think im gonna fucking like writing stories or short stories when i aint gots shit to do. maybe i will take pico's advice and go to bed. but my eyes arent heavy yet and its still sunny out(my eyes are drouping and it is 12:34 as we speak wilson) wtf is wrong with me wilson. im insane and tired and bored and fucking fucked and i want to do so much in life at this moment but i cant because i just cant.......what should i do.....fuck........shit.....as in the words of gabe fihatta,bitchshitassholeandbitchhead....what now...and that isnt to you wilson. why am i talking to a computer or a figure of my imagination thinking that one day you will talk back and you probaly will in the future. will im glad this isnt myspace or molly the ukillaly player hasnt found this because i dont want to forget about you wilson.
p.s.
p
e
a
c
e
a
n
d
0
4
4
6
2
o
y
e
a
party of the chain as i speak
at
2
7
9
s
e
a
p
o
r
t
h
o
t
e
l
its
off
the
chain
chill chill chill

fuck yea

got a job application filled it out...hoping to get it....got alot of credit on task in school....getting fucking all the shit andrew me or both recorded and gonna put it on cd hahahaha gonna release it. o yea "chill chill chill"so pretty much everything is going the rite way. got 120 in the bank. thinking bout getting a camera to fucking put up vids and pics
nite wilson
love
and
peace

music

Music has been my life

for

7 years.

m

i started out on

guitar.

my roots of music is

the blues.

something about

Stevie Ray Vaughan's
slamming,

bluesy

guitar licks

grabbed me,

sat me down,

and said

"here"

i think it is an

art.

its a

state-of-mind.

i dont know where i would

be without it.

by playing the drums

you can take some

of

your

aggression

out on them.

soothing.

its in my blood.

like

hair color

or

eyes.

i think i would go

CRAZY

without it.

or atleast a different

person.

Mailbox was empty

as i look at the clock,

i realize that

the maillady should be here

by now.

it could be that day.

it's been three

aganizing

weeks

of sweaty hands

and

no replied e-mails.

i need this guitarpickup

tofinish my guitar

i've been working on for

two months.

just the anxious feeling of maybe

me getting scammed

by SuPeRFreAk102.

and then i hear it.

the sound of

my metal gate

slamming.

then, oscar

runs

to

the

door

awaiting his cookie.

i see the maillady's shadow

move past the window.

i jumped up before she

could get to the steps.

i swing the door open

before she

could

ring

the

doorbell.

she sticks out her arm and hands me

five bills and a magazine.

No, still one more anxious day

to look

forward

too

idk how but....

i just got like 40 bucks in change and then i have like 20 so that is 60 yea.....i kinda feel bad about it because its my brothers and he finally gave it to me but yea whateva..going in the bank wilson to buy a mac or cymbals or someting...thnks alex..nite wilson

hey

wilson its been a long time but not really hahaha....its hot and im going swimming tonight..love and peace nicca

Mafia?

brothers

i was always the green one

fuckkkkkk my jaww

~~~~~~

fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck
for some reason when you write fuck so many times it doesnt look right but i dont fucking now
FUCK

...

bored

Life is happiness

shared with others

And if you can't share

it with the one you love

then let them go

And be Free.

to see the wonders

of the world

to go to the

city

of

lights

to wonder to

parts of

town

you have

never seen.

and explore.

and appriciate

what you have

and what you have recived

which is life.

appriciate what you

have

because you cant

take it

with you

when you

die

FOGGY'S MENTOR

I am an idealist. And a loathed person.I dream way too loud.I break things in myself all the time.I believe. I choose to believe this all happening.And that some of it may not be as it seems.That this (your view of a world in a cosmos) is a construct. I am a relativist though and I DO NOT have time for string-theory or that hippy bullshit from the cuff "New Science" b.s.Its about gravity.Its about light.and its about matter.It is not the NOTHING in space causing shit, it is the SOMETHINGsI would prefer to be like the somethings. Like the stranger more undefinable cosmic events. Or maybe even a bit like my hero's. They are the people before us who dared to be a little bit less afraid of what other people thought and a little bit more willing to put their nuts in their salad.You know- people who really laughed, and not because that was expected.I see them everywhere.From the guy that sings chinese songs to me when I buy Ginseng on my block, who knows instantly what things I should put back, and knows I am fragile, without me saying a word, to someone like Marc Jacobs, who is obviously a genius and doesn't give a fuck, for giving such a fuck about everything. I may be an idealist,but that is my job.I used to dig ditches. That was part of plumbing, and I was horrid at that too.Now I dig ditches in me. I tear myself into shreds in hopes I might find something useful that might explain a joy, or a loss or a pain that someone else might have trouble analyzing. It is hard work. It really messes me up. But I love it. It is honest work. Because when you stop the research and start bullshitting, people know. You aren't helping them.And, at least with music, there has to be a story, a mystery, and a truth before it all. And I don't care much for my music but I try and build songs as simple as card houses, with only truth holding them up.I think that is something hard and interesting to do.I hope I don't lose all my hearing too fast. But I will be happy to find work anywhere, and would take as many pictures and make as much art as I do now.Did you know I always worked this much and made this much stuff. No. How could you. But I did.My grandparents ran out of drawers for things I made.We needed lots of refrigerator space and I used to get asked questions like, "David Ryan, how big do you think the universe is?" while playing hearts at the kitchen table, backdoor open, screen door closed to keep out the mosquitos, and things like, "What do you think forever is?"I loved that. I think i might have been born in the woods by werewolves. Maybe I am from outer space, but in the coastal south, the night is forever, and those questions are welcomed for those long damp moments in time that hang above you as things simmer on the stove.I guess I am an idealist.I believe things MEAN stuff.This mean my chances of survival are very slim.But, for every single dream I dreamthat I diagramand turn into a thingI have wonIf but a secondA game We are all playingWith a very volatile cosmos.