Winner

Maybe it's just time to write.

And I mean mental writing, ehh, some kind of evolution of writing. I guess it's called typing.

Writing, and if you're a writer, is done through muscles potentially all throughout your arm, wrist, fingers . . And you don't need to think about what you're writing ..much. if you're a writer, your hand basically is penciling down (not necessarily a pencil) full sentences or phrases at a time. If you're thinking about drawing each letter as you're doing it, you probably aren't a writer.

We're all typers, aren't we? just about? Typists?


It's Christmas. Wishing you the very best holidays season. I just kinda had a Christmas miracle of sorts.

If you know me at all, you may know I'm a musichead, but unfortunately, a bit of a talentless hack. Also, I NEVER would've tried ANYTHING with music if not for mari**ana. I can say that with like 98% certainty. But even then, I'm getting to thinking about how I was in church choir from a young age, and played trumpet from a young age, all throughout school. Music has always kinda been there, though I do admit to being a past-downplayer. Ehh, let's say, it was the mariju**a that led me to thinking I was any good. And not just any good, I mean. I somehow wound up with a fairly inflated ego for a time there. I thought I just needed my big break but that I was gonna be like, the next machine gun Kelly, or some sh!t. Not that I'm even really a fan much of his. But along that line . . a sensation.

Well, .. Goodness. A lotta time has gone on, a lotta street performing wannabe sh!t, a lotta busking, a lot of video uploads and deletes....a lot of, "yes I'm dead serious about musicianship and I'll give up anything for it, including but not limited to housing" ... At one point I playfully would refer to myself as the grocery store bandit. Cos I'd so often post up just outside a grocery store, with a hat on the ground, and either sing or whistle into my hands, and basically look h0meless and hungry. I made a lot of money this way, funny? enough? If it's funny. Perhaps just funnily.


Tonight I just about had a sch*zophrenic meltdown in my motel. I'm happy to say I'm off d®ugs. I'm not happy to say that there still seem to be how you say, bodies of enforcement, in play, against craz¥ people. Like ya boi. It don't even really matter about no d®ugs. If you're craz¥, it's essentially a crime now. And they presume that you are on d®ugs. Just cos you're too far outside the status quo to be believable.:/

I went out. I know some of the tricks. Helicopters flying over my motel 6 for hours. Earplugs in. Hat on. Sunglasses. Still my ears are sensitive. Supersonic weaponry, vibrational dominating machines . . I don't know. Sirens dominate my consciousness. Helicopters. My manifesting crazybrain, under a lot of stress. F•ck

Got to the strip. It rained today but was finished. I actually brought the like, 78 bucks I've made busking ukulele, fully intending to give it all away. Broken heart, lack of care about my life, money. Nobody was really out. One palm tree Weaver. One gooby guy who is dressed like the Tin man and stands on a box and makes funny faces or something. (Hm, mime!)
Go to what I know to be a HISTORIC performing spot. Which is just outside CVS. I tried there a time or two. Never no good, kinda crashed and burned. like years ago. Don't matta. Mostly only see these two old black gentlemen who kick serious a§s. Bass guitar and vocals to backing tracks doin the hits but they cover a wide range of genres. Kings of that spot. When you're as sensitive to energy as me.. spots matter. The story of what ~goes on~ in each "spot" matters. Performers create vortexes of energy. You learn where these vortexes are. Anyway.
I'm a bit incognito. Again, sunglasses, literally EARPLUGS-bout to do music-, and a hat. It's nighttime. I start whistling. And don't really stop for what seemed like an eternity, but in the greatest way. A moment. A real moment. I felt my showing was good. A few people came up to me with cash in hand. A couple put it in my pocket . . one guy was confused and sort of walked away with befuddlement holding the bill. IDK. I gave Vegas what I could. Walking back I put like 50 bucks in the mimes bucket and he seriously broke character and like freaked out; I was already walking away and saying whatever in response. The palm tree Weaver I spoke with for a second and showed him the 5 dollar bill someone put in my pocket. It had in red stamplike letters a message saying "Donald Trump's house" with an arrow pointing to the white house on the tail side of the bill. We both chuckled I guess.


This terrible, terrible, tremendous anx!ety of, Is that street performer h!gh? Is that street performer h!gh? Furthermore, what is h!gh? On d®ugs? What's on d®ugs? Suppose someone smoked a bunch in their life, and decided to quit, and so 3 weeks have gone by, but it still remains in their system because they haven't sweated, they're not very active, they're not very flowing. Like, their body/system has trouble ridding itself. Circulatory issues... Meanwhile the person gloats on and on about how they're clean, but as a matter of fact, the d®ugs are still inside of them. So are they on d®ugs? Also, what the fu*k is h!gh? Currently under an influence? Actively? How much time must pass by? Suppose one smoked M*ry Jane and or t0baccy early in their day.. had a momentous day where things just got better and better all throughout like 10 hours. Then they make music. Uh? ..Suppose one doesn't do d®ugs at all. But they are really f**king skillful at mastur%ation. So they ma$turbate, then hit the Vegas strip, feeling that "higher than my normal" kind of feeling. Suppose someone does any number of other things. Runs. Works a hard day. Suppose someone....FEELS. And is self aware enough to sort of recognize they're elevated above their average. Or is h!gh just.. conscious? Is a conscious street performer really a threat? Could a fight easily break out? Aren't we all conscious? Idfk. Just, at what point is this a bunch of hooplah?
Sincerely, me