So here we are. It’s ridiculous to think about really; that I’ve been unable (unwilling?) to write anything for the past who knows how many months yet here I am at one am of what’s left of my Friday night tinkering over my Tinder profile name like the very word could save my life.

Chester’s dead. And it’s sad. But sometimes I catch myself feeling this sadness – despite the fact that I never met him or knew him or read any of his interviews, just mumbled words from his song as I waded through my preteens – and immediately feel guilty. I’m not sure for what exactly.

Ps: I think I’ve finally found it. That little tape of my life that stops at a certain point then revs back to the beginning and starts all over again. I’ve found it, and it’s maddening. 



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