3,070.13

I've been listening to "Oh Sweet Nothin" by the Velvet Underground on repeat, on vinyl, for most of the day. Fitting, too, since I've spent a lot of the day thinking about life, the biggest sweet nothing of them all. That's the problem with life, isn't it? That it comes down to nothing, sweet as it may be. But that's not why I feel like writing. As a matter of fact, I can't even explain why I feel like writing. You might as well ask me why I feel like breathing. Writing is what I choose to do with the sweet nothing of life. You cannot make something out of nothing unless you create. This is my creation.

I'm now addicted to drawing a cartoon character that I've named Munk. I've recently graduated from fully animated images to mixed-media. If I had something more than the bare minimum for photo editing, maybe I'd get a little fancier. I miss using Paint.NET. I'm wondering if I just keep making more and more of these Munk cartoons that some kind of narrative form will develop. It'd be nice to find some way to combine all my hobbies into one. 

I think that's one of the secrets of the sweet nothing: to fully realize all of your skills. 

Jack and I went to Yazmin's second-saturday shindig and listened to some live bands play short sets to a small crowd in a cement warehouse. We got stoned first in an alleyway between grimy dumpsters and quenched our cotton-mouths at a liquor store oasis. Finally we met Jake and Yazmin outside and helped them carry boxes of food into the venue. We sat in a round booth with a padded bench and I watched people shift among the multicultural crowd. The music was lively. Black-lights glowed purple overhead while the singers played beneath strings of Christmas lights and extension cords. The crowd vanished when the middle-aged folk singer took the stage and we found our way to Old Soul to grab munchies. I spent the rest of the night staying warm in my room.

Somehow it becomes 1:30 AM. 

I miss Jenny.

Here are some pictures of the trees outside of my room.