voiceless drone

lots of pain...not in the mood...spent a good long time trying to make some music with pana...wish we had a drummer...actually i wish we had a singer...so i won't have to do anything but churn out rhymes about how shitty it is to be a boy on a planet which is obviously turning too girly...i swear man...people are becoming...very petty...i think we should all just sit...complain...watch movies...pass judgement on the actors...the director...the sound track...make fun of bands like jal even though they make better music than i do...not better music than pana or molly...obviously. life should be spent making fun of people to their faces rather than behind their backs but then again also behind their backs because that's too much fun. mediocrity and contradictions will follow me to the grave...
too much pain in the legs...prolly because i can't sit still for a goddamn minute...it's like being on a twitching treadmill thing...that just makes you twitch...
had another insanely religious type dream...won't write it down...too afraid...let me tell you why you don't get these religious dreams...yeah it's got a very simple logic to it...only those who leave are called back...in order to leave you have to be in a place that you can leave...since you were all infidel bastards from the start...raised by drunkard parents with ill gotten wealth therefore there's no point in calling cunts like you back...all you could ever possibly care about is...cars...and woofers and gel...designer clothes and your insane desire to abolish invisibility. there is hope...but not for you...because you are a miserable wretch...now i might be a deserter and a complete and total hypocrite...but since i'm so goddamn sexy...i can pull it off...but at least i was there...no it's just bad luck...you're screwed...i don't care...i'll watch you burn with pleasure because you watched me burn with pleasure...
bitter rambling of a lunatic...pay no heed to it...just be shamed enough into gathering what's left of your morality and try to stitch a shabby little coat that might...MIGHT...help you save face in the end...hahahahahahaha...what the hell am i talking about??? i don't even pray hahahahaa...
gradually...i'm becoming completely deluded...everyone is out to get me...a friend asked me to come to the mini golf place...i refused...why? because i was too afraid to sit among people...i was afraid that i'd be made fun of or beat up hhahahahahaha...for absolutely no reason...getting beat up by buttar is acceptable...he's a brother...and he means well...other people just want to...wring my neck because i'm hateful...i AM hateful...self centred...extremely selfish...i make children cry...which reminds me...today i saw a really ugly baby on the breakfast table...i was staring at it and it was staring back...then it started smiling...so i smiled back...you can't help it...even ugly babies can induce smileage...then it started alternating between smiling and pouting...and then it smiled again and fell asleep...so i left. as a general rule babies don't hate me...babies are nasty little bitches. they can prolly see the platoon of unearthly warriors that i keep by myself...the Lord knows i'm useless without help...what the hell is blank verse anyway?
ever since the blog stopped opening in pakistan...and you're only allowed to post but not view...which means that nobody can read this...i've noticed a sudden shift from mindless bantering to coherency...actually that might be because i haven't been a mutant for a while now...in reality it must be around three days since sobriety...but it feels like a month so...i dunno.
michael akerfeldt can sing just as well live as he does on the album...it's bloody infuriating...not only can he write at least a thousand times better than i can but he can also sing it a million times better...goddamn him...and may he...aah fudge can't even curse him to permanent voice loss...i like the band too much...assholes.
we came back from a drive...i felt the need to drive...so we came back from a drive...and pana sat down with my (his) acoustic...which is upside down for him because i'm lefty...and it's tuned to dadgad...and he starts playing something randomly...and stopped...looked at me...sometimes good shit erupts out of nowhere and we stare at each other...
"fit hai..." i said.
so he tried to add something to it...i told him he was ruining it...then he played something else...i said that that was better...then he did something else...which was nice...then he was just farting around so i asked him to take it to the other side...near the twelveth...er...thingy...i don't know any technical guitar language...so he took it to the 12th thingy...and it was nice...so i said that i had a bit of a rhyme that might go well with that tune...so we went over to his house...i opened my blog and used that bit of poem i wrote yesterday...it was a shitty poem but it rhymed and was honest enough for my liking.
i can't sing. that is a proven fact. i was never chosen for any choir thingy at school...i sing like a squeaky pig actually...but anyhoo...since pana can't sing either...although he has a nicer voice...actually the thing is...i can usually keep a note...if i'm comfortable enough...but the voice itself is painful to hear...pana's voice is nice but he can't keep a note...so we're stuck in the hell of mediocrity...but he has enough talent with the guitar to save him in the long run...all i can make is shit...and sometimes that takes a bit of work. so anyhoo...i tried to "sing". it didn't go really well...in fact IF we had been in MY room...a more comfortable environment...i prolly would have been able to sing better. not good. but better than the crap we did record. so anyhoo...it's a very strange bit of empty music because we have to add a bass...and prolly use the damn fruity loops thing for fake drums...goddamn fake drums...but...we don't really have a choice...once my trg job thing starts...if i pass the initial thingy...then i might be able to buy drums...in about...three months...provided i have a good pay...freaking night job...ten hours a night...and there's bound to be a contract...so even though i'll buy the drums...i'll never have the time to play them...kher...all contracts come to an end...usually at the age of 27...and by then pana'll have learnt how to play drums...he's got a good sense of rhythm anyway...the only rhythm i have is in my head. clint eastwoof has a lot of lines on his face.
this is the poem we used...again...only a retarded person would not be able to get the simple lyrics...blah blooh mummy daddy frustration of a pointless idiot...in anycase i think it's a better poem than art lost...so you can shove it up your ass molly. hah

begotten by a son of man
sometimes i wonder if i can
lose myself in thoughts i made
in shallow marshes where i wade

now and then my steps do falter
free will fades, my course is altered
leaving behind the path i chose
wondering where this new one goes

i close my eyes, sit back, indulge
in all those secrets i can't divulge
then close the book i wrote alone
a day in the life of a voiceless drone.

once we fix the dirty parts...and the fact that i didn't sing "sometimes" right...it was completely out...then we'll have the first coherent song we've ever made. this is not the kind of music we intend to make though...this is just...for lack of skill/talent/patience and better equipment...a settlement made. yes i know this doesn't interest anybody other than me...hence my blog.
so anyhoo...molly (the reluctant "band" member of a band that will never be) doesn't know it yet but he might have to play a lead thingy to this...i'm sure when i listen to it tomorrow...i'll be so ashmed that i'll delete this post...never mention it to molly...and then pana and i will move on...forget the goddamn thing.

i don't care if i never leave home again...i don't care if all my friends decide to leave...so speaks zoloft through the mouth of martin pale. once i start taking the proper dosage...i'm sure i'll become distant enough to disappear entirely and my life long dream will come true. although i do hope that i won't stop writing pseudo romantic poems...i enjoy writing about my muse...and any excuse is worth being used...although most of it is mediocre shit...i'm sure life would be a bore without it. what the hell is blank verse anyway?
my mother just asked me who i'm talking to...hahahaha.
that's pana in the picture...the guitar is upside down...if you look closely at the lamp shade...you'll notice a shiny object a bit to the left from the centre...that belongs to byron. a hairclip i stole.