I heard today through Little Benny Catastronaut that Jason, a/k/a Shabbytiger on the Punk Planet forums, has died.
I don’t know any details, and I’m guessing Ben found out through Facebook, which I am not on, so those who have kept up with former posters may know more.
Too many people who were on pp.com gone too young….
I’ve been watching Gilmore Girls now that it’s on Netflix and was pleasantly fucking surprised at seeing an old friend make an appearance. xo.
How are you? I’m fine, New york’s alright to borderline terrible already. Anyway I’m surprised this login attempt worked considering the past 34 times didn’t. Somebody tell Janet I’ve emailed her twice 😦
I reread some old stuff I posted here and am embarrassed and cringing but that’s life eh?
I babysat for Mack and he gave me a pair of Neutral Milk Hotel tickets — Punk Planet still exists and that’s proof I guess.
It wasn’t really all that hard– just required a bit of effort, and making “efforts” has never really been my strong suit. But yeah. Here I am. It’s kinda spooky here. A player piano plunks out an off-key, dusty melody in this ghost town saloon. And all the whisky bottles are empty and were smashed to hell for target practice years ago by some junkie cowboy whose pony ran out of gas on the outskirts of town. So he spent a week or two slowly starving to death and shooting up his last three bricks of dope in the abandoned brothel upstairs. Just tumbleweeds and half formed thoughts blowing through the void. And not a 7-11 less than a two days walk away.
But anywhoo… I’m doing a zine again for the first time in like 10 or 15 years and it’s fun.
Hope if anyone sees this you’re relatively happy. And more healthy than not!
P.S. – I made a new beat and it sounds like this:
Pete Seeger – R.I.P.
Now get out your five-string banjos and play, people.
From the age of 25 until recently, I used to feel a lot of angst around my birthday, and for the first time, i can honestly say, I don’t feel any of that. I used to feel like I was in competition with societies’ dictum’s of where i was “supposed to be”, what I “needed to attain- materially, professionally, spiritually, etc”.
You know what, I may not like myself every day, and there are times I may not conduct myself in the best of manners. but god dammit, today, I like me, and I like all of you. for if I didn’t like you, I wouldn’t share my innermost thoughts with you- be theY ugly, happy, sad, painful, and all manner in between.
A lot of my life was rocky sailing, but I’m forty now, and all those lessons I’ve learned, made me “me” and i say bring it on. it’s only going to get better from here on out.
i can’t decide if my poetic output has lessened since moving here because:
I’ve lost interest in writing them
lack of stimuli
I’ve said everything i want/need to say and hate repeating myself
Whenever i write them, they increasingly never turn out how i’d intended and despite the fact that i have the vocabulary to write excellent poems, i just can’t get the words to work for me- all they do is work against me. which is similar to why i gave up painting a long time ago. i’m a fickle motherfucker, with a short attention span who gives up too quickly, and is always looking for something new and shiny- and i really hate that about myself. i hate the easy path, but i also hate the hard path….