urban refugee

I'm not sure about blogging.

I told someone to go fuck themselves today, I won't bore you with the details, but it didn't give me the usual frisson of rebel yell that it used to. Am I losing my Edge?

I'm not sure about love anymore.

I had a realization on the walk from the card shop [StEvEn works in a Greeting Card shop in Downtown Smalltown] that, although getting away from all the shit in the city has been incredibly good for my general state of mind and body, I am starting to fucking die inside. Which probably isn't very good for my state of mind and body.

I'm not sure about romance either, I mean where does it get you?

The Latest Piece (photo forthcoming) Rudolphs Revenge, is actually going well. I haven't welded in a while and had some prominent burns on my shins and thighs that C------a has commented on. I told her it was self mutilation because I knew it would make me seem interesting but she became overly concerned and gave me the number of her sensei. So now I am going to go to Jujitsu class on wednesday. fucking hell.

French Kissed a Lady

Everyone knows that StEvEn has a heart of gold, nobody told me that it was so goddamn heavy to carry around. Instead, I was told that Clarissa had wide eyes and a new way of making the old work, she makes little pictures out of hair and cast iron, god love her. After a few too many we discovered ourselves dishevelled in arms. Have you seen anything so ridiculous as a post modern bisexual trying to get his heart on with a Steam Punk in flourescent corset and high heels? Too many people took too many pictures, I spent all yesterday afternoon begging people to censor their goddamn facebook pages. What would Mother say? What would Stephen Deadly Robot Harper say? She is calling and I am calling back. I can't get her out of my hair.