I daydream a lot about floating in the air. A slow, sort of dead man’s float across the sky. This doesn’t make much sense to me because I don’t like planes. Or swimming. I prefer concrete over carpet. Analysis over meditation. So, the floating in the air thing—well that is a little crazy. A contradiction to my nature that feels oddly good.
DIY touring requires a lot more than musical skill to make it work. You have to be comfortable with a not insignificant level of humiliation.
Content warning: suicide, mental health, institutionalization last may, i emptied thirty (30) little heart-slowing pills called propanolol into my palm, dropped them onto my tongue, took a sip of water, and swallowed. […]
damn the children’s wing.
