3/28/12: The brewery fumes of black ash smoke, but I'm hearing music and people saying "Island time." I can smell the thickness with a leftover hint of pork. I don't seem to bother calling the fire department, though I see a twitcher clicking and making flames come out of he/she, I don't care, hand. It starts burning the weeds around the street lamps. It gets closer and closer to the brewery and I starting guessing it will lite the place on fire. I think I should call the cops, but the battery to my phone is dying.
3/29/12: I sleep, but I have to keep my eye open at the clock. Downtown never wakes up until 10:30 in the morning. Before that, I can find all sorts of rituals on the street. Yet their sites are empty when I arrive and I only smell ass.
3/30/12: Why is it whenever I look at Lake Whatcom I want to be able to walk on water? (Not in the religious way.) I know right now, some other kid wants to walk on top of the lake, and right now, someone else is thinking of an floating invention in their cliche basement lab. It'll blow up on them anyway.
3/31/12: Views always make you think you're on top of the world. But no one ever tells you how messed up it will make you feel when you look down. Seeing a lake and the sea at the same time is scary. I get a bunch categories mixed up with a sight like that. Don't believe me, fine. Walk up Academy Road and tell me otherwise.
4/1/12: Sometimes I wish cars were destroyed. They're lazy slobs that can carry us around faster than most, but we have to move their lazy wheel limbs to get them going. They're always picky eaters, always want the same dino-fuel drinks and having a fit when we no longer have any left. They growl like they can be low maintenance creatures, but they want the latest fashion parts in the specific car shops otherwise they don't feel pimpish enough. We enable them to be our running legs and the cars don't seem to care how anyone else is thinking. They bully bikes to curb of the street and get a little carried away with certain accidents, but hey we all say its the driver's fault. There is hope we have to make this dream into a reality. One biker, branded the with tattoos on his hind legs stating: "Fuck" on left leg, "Cars" on right leg.
