Ni Hill

Just turn the fucking music off already. Just get out of here. Ugh. Why the fuck did I move in here? Because I had to. Whatever the cost. Well, this is the cost. Well, anyway.

I'll be glad to get out of here. I guess. Go on tour. Just keep the novelty going, throw myself into something new. Stupid drugs and people. They don't work for me. Especially tonight. Music does work, it's something I can do. Mike was happy, and that made me happy. We all played well. The show was orgasmic. The aftermath is disappointing, but being in the song was good. I connect well that way, I guess I'll even abandon vast swathes of ego that way. But there was no promised R'N'R for me - for others, for sure, people getting off all over the peripherals. Me, well, you know how that goes. More isolation than normal, even. But the surface is cold. What can I expect? If it’s not happening, if I don’t make it happen, I didn’t make it, I don’t have it, what more is there to say? It’s not like I ever believed in it anyway. And this retarded, e-tarded, acid-tarded, party scene is just making me sick. Smoked a cig, did a line of K, and it's all idiotic. Didn't get off.

Fuck these people, fuck all of them. How do I fit into this stupid fucking scene? I don't. I worked on the music though, and I did good with that. I guess I can and should focus on that, I guess it's my destiny, to be the responsible one, someone that can be counted on -- or to go for the solo career as a space case, either way. Well, I'll do both.

Big thanks to Doc, he came and saw, he rocked out with us. He hooked me up with Mike in the first place. Doc rules. Everyone else, well, they got their halloween on I guess. Good LORD, I’m bored with this season. Smash the pumpkins already, move the fuck on. Let it snow, bury this bullshit.

Good energy, good crowd, in a kinetic sort of way. It's something to do. I can't do much with the dregs, what I'm left with. And these moronic drugs I pursue - the taste of tobacco - so disgusting and so pointless.

Maybe I'm halfway neurosomatic, not objective enough to realize how bullheadedly bitter I'm being right now. What is it I want, need, expect? Oh, I could write you a fucking laundry list. Just don't let me hear about it. The connections. The action I'm not in on. Cause if I keep hearing about it I'm gonna snap, and I'm gonna bludgeon your skull with my nord, till it's a fine paste under this white elephant I bought, that sounds great, vintage, fills up the space, texturizes the metal band. I’ll bludgeon my social superiors into skull powder, and I’ll snort it up with a straw, and I will attain enlightenment, in the interchange of materials, dusted to the molecular level, you and me interchangable, can’t find an orifice, too late, it’s all genetic memory. Well it pleases me, that I can get it right musically. But I'm still working on the purpose. It might take a while. Arduousness. PDA burned thru my eyes. When I saw my reflection, I didn’t look as low and lost as I felt, I thought, surely there’s a purpose in this bag of flesh. Surely. But where? The truth is one of those pitches I can’t hear.

Some stupid beat punches through the walls, through the static I'm playing to try and drown out the noise. Yeah, the honeymoon is over, I'm going to stop pretending. These people are still partying? Are they even people? It's an auto-party now, but they aren't passed out yet. Yeah, there was a party scene in my room for a while, I let them in, cause I was on a nicotine rush, trying to be high, slipping, not maintaining, but not fucked up enough to pass out. The blond girl told me she knew this room. Yeah, I'm sure she did. Probably when it was Nikos, or one of them fuckers. I'm spelling his name wrong, in case it's uncouth to make these people googlable.

The blond girl said this is the room of no privacy. Thanks for telling me that. Actually it's not that bad, but it feels that bad right now. I would get my Axl Rose on right now, but it's not easy, when no one's trying to please me baby, and I'm writing songs about heartbreak these days. I don't think I'm getting through.

The outlets are fucked. Electrical clusterfuck. One nudge, and the whole system goes down, especially when people are around - some dude rolled me cigarettes, that must have been partially my idea. Ah, those inebriated itineraries. I threw them away, in a fit of sub-retch nausea. That’s how it is. Silly spikehigh, ugly aftertaste, pointless plateau. And the whole world is an incest. Fuck all of you. All of you. I’m just being bitter. I will selectively fuck some of you at a later date. And stupid music continues. Hi, guy. I know you, yes, and you know me. So we say hi. And resume our perpendicular trajectards.

I click my hells.

And pronounce words. Because I can. It’s a skill I have. But I still can't play Rachmaninov's Prelude properly while standing up - no, I need a bench for the classical piano repertoire. Need the exact fucking angle of approach and balance and height to bring out the nuances of a composition, written with intent to maximize the technical capacities of a pianist. But one nice thing about playing the keyboard in a metal band – you can fuck around a lot – a lot of leeway.

I guess that's why I'm going to go back to school next year, that's my long range plan, although I'm also here, probably for the long haul, maybe not HERE, but out, anyway, I'll find a better place though, at some point. I mean, this ain’t the love shack, it was a fresher placenta, not a panacea, a scuzzy little rind I’ve tried on for size, but I give up, I’m not going to contort myself into a series of Giovani variations for some lottery erogeny. I’ll just extend the platonic big tent, or rather, narrow its focus, put all this peripheral pent up poetic juice into, uh, hmm, I know what I’ll do, I’ll pack it all into an aside of some kind, something you can be proud of, for a minute or two.

First I'll find a hidey hole, but then I'll outgrow it. That's my plan. I'm making plans? Yeah I guess so. Gotta do something with these fucking irritating fucked up party people still not shutting up, with my static cranked, and still their voices and music penetrating, a few hours left to sleep - oh well, sleep dep will work for me, maybe. I don't know. Are you ready to rock, Calgary?