On: 3 HUND

Oh life! You wacky substanceless wonder! You've tossed me again, like a salad, like other things that and tossed. Frisbees? I dunno man, I don't do a lot of sports.

So some guy (mommy, whats a landlord?) evicted the residents of the Wizards Tower, so no more Kensington life for me. I had planned to know every cranny, every nook, then get to know the crannys again, but t'aint gon be so. Where have I gone too you ask? Tis a glorious lang. A land where no man wears a shirt. A land where all tattoos are prison tattoos. High unemployment, slow pace, canals, cracked streets...no it's not Detroit. It's called Welland and it's AWESOME here. Buildings sit empty on Main Street, some look abandoned, some disused, and some just look derelict though they are still running. Empty factories, empty houses; it’s a playground!

It's kindof like home, actually, but the people are more "white trash-blue collar" where I'm used to "redneck and bible thumping". Either way it actually feels comfortable to be an alien again!

Ahhhh...rent free, a near zero chance of finding work (though I'm sure I'll start trying soon) and a town to explore. Thanks life! Wishes do come true!

Also: heading out to OM next week.
Also: been paintin.
Also: Wheeeee!

To your right you will see clouds over Kensington, ye olde tower (the blue/white window was mine) and...uhhh...me.

On: Towering pitfalls.

Good morning world, hows about a caffeine+smiles breakfast? Bacon flapjacks? Cat fuzz?

I’m waiting on another move now, waiting and reading quest stories and comics and reading cigarette papers and reading buds and reading reds. The death pit will be refilled without me in it and I’ll be living in a Wizards Tower instead. I’m camping in my own room now, almost everything is in a box. On Thursday I will retire to the country to paint Eastern Eggs and lie on the road at night. It sounds like I’m talking nonsense but actually this is all factual, except for reading reds. I’m not sure how that would be done…actually I am.

I can’t help but still measure years by school periods, with summer constituting some kind of glorious purgatory that isn’t really a part of the year. Then September comes and the New Year melancholy rolls in with the cool air. Three days until I enter purgatory and the most beautiful place on earth.

On: dropping.

On: blue gloved hands.

On: Old old old.