Better Later Than Ever

We are about eighteen shows in and I have decided to record some of the events as they occur which will probably turn into a bunch of run on sentences about my further departure from myself and my friends.My asshole iches.I need to shower and I can barely tell where I am let alone the state I am in sitting over a soggy bowl of stale raison bran.My eyes burning and tearing like someone threw bleach into them.A very obese girl and her mother stand over the waffle iron waiting for 2 minutes and 14 seconds to come to an end.The young girl complains how long it's taking.As if some sort of cellulose award would be better off cutting her side open and shoving the prize into her body like some sort of make shift jacket pocket.Confetti might fly over her head under a blinking sign that says you won  diabetes.I relate far too much to this girl and I am saddened by it. I sit across from Yak talking about his iphone issues again and read texts from my girlfriend about some dumb girl leaving commentary on one of my many self promoting worship shrines trying to suck you into God doesn't even know what.I am growing less fond of them as this tour progresses.It has really become a job that I can not punch out of.I realize I am no longer into the thrill of cheap sex and girls who pose nude for short money.I can barely bring myself to pretend to care about anything anymore.I am really being nasty in my exchanges although I find myself very pleasant compared to the monster I feel more comfortable being.A monster that was chased away by manners and people who properly conduct themselves publicly,waving torches chasing Frankenstein out of my head.I mean i get it i can't just rub feces on my face and run down the street yelling about my new iphone gs and the magic it promises.I live for the comedy of these last days ahead as they are the only thing that keeps me going.That and the show.

I return to my room to see a grown man burrowing like some sort of cold dirt varmint in another mans bed.I understand that sleeping on the floor on an air mattress can be quite comfortable actually and don't get what the fuss is about.This fuss is Todd Cam'ron Westphal.

I miss the days of touring when I would rub my hands together anticipating sex and wild times on drugs like a fly on a turd eagerly awaiting, prepping before the meal.Now I find myself talking girls out of pulling out their breasts.I can tell they clearly don't want to do this and are appeasing  their boyfriends as if a deal was made for sex to cover a six figure debt as they watch insisting I sharpie up their girlfriends tits like some sort of famed swinger at a fuck hotel.I sit on the second bench behind Yak who sleeps a lot.I have many sleeping issues and I have become angered by the ease in which (what we now in the van refer to as the persian zone)he is able to fall into this deep sleep.I know not why but I have my leg up on the seat and have grown irritated by Yaks hair hanging over the bench and can not explain why i want to light it on fire.I don't wish to hurt my friend that I love but I just want to burn it or chop his tail off.As I stare out the window into the rain and listen to stories of the dead in New Orleans and alligators I grow sad then content as the strokes play very loud through chauncey's ipod.I become distracted easily but not fast enough as Todd turns back to look at me with one of his odd faces.The types of faces you might make with your girlfriend as a child.Sure they are cute but not between grown men especially this one sided. I haven't the capacity to communicate on a basic human level with him beyond short conversation as he may begin giving me career advice.Why is it so many people do that?I guess they care.Anything beyond a general concern for ones safety I struggle with understanding.I had fantasized about doing a daily tour blog like Yak and even Sean has one that I secretly envy but I just can't find the words to describe what I am going through.I start to see some pattern in my writing.Information followed by a thick description like some sort of fat tongued english teacher using the phrase "like some sort of" too much like some sort of limited fancies himself of the writing ilk.I begin projecting this newly discovered tired process onto people around me like people do with animals.I listen to a child near me start doing it.He says mom I am full....like some sort of stuffed deer head dad killed.mom can we go swimming? like some sort of crazed sperm into your corroded ovaries?Then mom....No son we can't, like some sort of man that impregnated me like some sort of dumb fucking side of the road lounge lizard suck fest keeping his word.I can't seem to remember much of the shows other than....There I was unconscious on the floor followed by.....Because,of me.

I have seen many insane things in my life but to see the speed in which Todd jumped in Yak's bed after Yak left to do laundry was perhaps the most impressive thing I have seen in the 4 seconds I was awake.I would fall back asleep to the sounds of the sheets being pulled back in one swift rip and just that fast he was nuzzling away in the scent and warmth left by yak ballz.Todds ass eater's beard decorated with strands of yak's hair.He is content and for just a second,all in the world is right.