Query

What does it mean if you wake up in half a suit with a pair of pliers in your hand, go through the day half sleeping and dreaming at light speed even when you're awake, and end your day on the floor sprawled next to some puddles of paint, a cup of cold coffee left over from the mornin', and a piece of dry sprouted wheat toast? Fuck, it's fantastic to be mortal.

Digressing slightly, here's an exciting new update from the world 'o' Alex: I'm applying for a job at a screenprinting business, so I can simultaneously educate myself in the trade and continue to fund my unhealthy addictions to caffine, scrap metal, and underage Irish hookers, but once again, I digress. In other news, I've raised enough money to purchase a new printing press, It's been far too long since I've shaved, my cat stole my wife, and my prostate exploded. It is also entirely too late to be up typing this shit when I have to be somewheree by 9 a.m. tomorr... well actually it's past midnight, so mechanically speaking that would be 9 a.m. today.  Salutations mentlegen, I'm off. Go to sleep pretty and wake up miserable.