Punching Through

Late wasteland.

Starting to see the rewards of not giving a fuck--because I care so much. If you're not paying my rent (and no one is btw, mom started charging Jan 1), then you don't get a vote. I don't give a fuck. It can get twice as hard and I won't care.

Whatever it takes. All day every day. Punch through. From here on out.

Why anyone would care enough to give me a hard time about what I eat, I don't know. Why anyone would care about what I choose to do for money, I don't know, but I don't have the time or energy to care.

The glorious thing about being tired is that you can't carry anything with you. I'm literally unble to lift weights at the gym that I lifted last week and the week before, but I also don't care. As soon as it's done it's done. Nothing else. Breathe through.

I'm reading the Kite Runner (thanks Jawaid) right now. It's right--anything you don't face in the moment, you'll revisit--or carry around forever. Bring it on.

I'm starting a vintage and studio equipment rental service. It's called White Gold Sound System and registered under White Gold. So when it comes time to switch the credit card machine over to books (c'mon Booklist--grow balls, baby!), I'll be ready to roll. And the record after that.

It feels strange to say but that's all there is for me. It's gonna be lots of fun when it pops but until then, until the whole world bends to my will : ), it could feel like work. Doesn't matter to me, but it might.

Tired, happy, hungry, sad, I'm the same person. Going the same way, interested in exactly the same thing.

And whatever I need to learn to get me there can't come fast enough.

Bring it on.

Ps: And when I play China I'm singing all my songs--see how glorious paying for your art is going to be.

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WhiteG.com