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About

This is what it could look like when one completely deconstructs a life as one knows it, and how to build from the ground up. Alternatively, this is a fresh look at an old story. The fine art of falling apart.

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I'm Gish. I guess this is what one can call the remnants of a pre-mid-life crisis. I listen to too much music and read too many books, and it all means nothing. Abrasive, I smoke too much, drink too much coffee and hardly sleep. Alive. Be sure to check out the new links to blogs, photos, music and other sorts of good stuff at the very bottom of the page.

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Late night chats with myself.

Stamped: 4:54 AM

There's a place that she goes, given time...
I keep meaning to pick up this album just so I can have Martin's voice in my ears. I admit it, I miss the Tea Party and the shows. The backstage debauchery, the jokes, silly conversations, and the little rush I got from being so close to Stuart Chatwood (yeah, I had a crush for a little while).

It's late where I am. It's almost five in the morning. I went out with a low heart, low morale, thinking that my lack of morals finally hit rock bottom and nothing would raise them. Amazing what a little gin can do. Came back to the studio and started painting. Took some photos this evening, but nothing that touched me. Reached me.

I get mouthy when I'm brave. I left a loaded post on Punk Sud. I expect the children to be rousted by early morning. I just can't abide by ignorance. Except for my own.

Night, sweet things.


Butterfly - Jeff Martin

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