A wrought iron gate for my ironic rotting gut

There. That's better. Like a nice warm sweater.

I am SO thankful for Beyonce Knowles. Her new single is beyond good. "Crazy in Love" blew my mind, but this may be better. It's less gimicky. Just her. So good. I really think, if she keeps it up, that she may go down as one of the best female artists ever. If not the best. Ok, now I'm cycloping it.

How is everyone? Christmas treated you well I hope?

I've been running a lot. Daily in fact. And as tired as I am once I stop, I really feel like after a few minutes of rest that I could handle some full-court basketball. See, the plan is to not be such a raging fat ass. I don't actually think I'm fat, not yet anyway. But the former plan was going to get me there in a goddamn quick hurry.

Check it.

You know how much I love you

"I see a darkness" by the bpb is brilliant. I have to thank Wolverine for sharing that with me.

And I could listen to twelve minute Decemberists songs all day.

How often do I post just to say how much I enjoy two particular songs? Not often. So, you know. Take heed and all that. Penny Arcade has a brilliant piece of writing on it today. It's not earth-shaking or anything, but the words are sculpted into this beautiful mass of precision that it makes me not want to even try. It's that good. You should go check it out and see if it resonates with you a'tall.

Your name is David Keenan. You're at Moira Donelley's house, just outside of Syracuse.

My brain beats a million times per second. I'm not kidding. It never stops, as much as I want it to.

I'm tired. I'm so tired. People have told me that I look sad, and that I don't sound happy, all in the last five hours. I don't know that either of those things are true, but I suppose it's all a matter of perception. I'm just really tired. And bored. What's that line? If you're bored, then you're boring. Well, I don't think I'm boring. I'm just fucking tired.

I spent the last two days up at the 'manche, far from myspace and from blogger. I mean, they exist, but my access to them is limited.

So bulletins regarding the day to day: Tomorrow I'll be on the roof at my parents house. There will be rain, electricity, bright lights, and probably a ladder. On Saturday, I'll fly to LA for an obscenely long hug with 80's era Storm, some cocktails, golf balls with Ted and Cyclops (did that one on purpose) and some Vietnamese food. Fly back on Sunday for rest. God, how I adore rest. Then the camanch again. Then home. Then Camanche. Fucking. Xmas. (re: Christmas) Got the presents ordered and e'rthing.