so tonight its truly over.
it's been a weird month.
i broke up with my boyfriend.
my ex-boyfriend died in a motorcycle accident.
i'm feeling totally just like

just like
just like

alone. again. for the first time. again.

it's okay, it feels cathartic and antarctic
and here and abroad
and blue and mauve
and
and
and
like it doesn't really matter, you know.

cause you make plans, you break plans you give chance
and all of it is just a
fame
game
same
lame

but it feels like life
and living
(she's in the mood for singledom)

GETTHISGIRLSOMEALONEANALGESIC

before the drummer boy runs away with her mood.

enough doom and gloom (she said).
one last note on death though: it sucks.

it's one of those things that you have no control over though, so you just have to let it go. i grieved, i mourned but it's time to move on...

i suppose the older you get, the more you get used to losing. not in a bad way, but in a "whoa, life is short, let's live it until the fullest" kind of way.

LIVE I SAY... until the living lives longer than life.

Steven King, no words will ever give you justice.


Where Steven was born isn’t important. Steve wasn’t married, he isn’t survived by any children. That doesn’t matter either. The fact that Steve lived in California the last few years of existence is totally beside the point. He grew up in Minnesota. He worked. He laughed. He played. None of that is tied to a particular profession, or place or event. Steve wasn’t concerned during his life about where he lived, or what job he held, or how much money he made.

Steve was an anomaly.


It didn’t matter if he was working at a gym, or as an intern or as a helper to his good friend of the same name doing landscaping or on a project or music endeavor with his roommate. Nope, none of that defined Steve, or the life he lead, or the lives he touched.



Steve was music. No. Steve was way more than music.

He was the people he pushed to be outside-the-box, and the lives he changed for the better. He was the caring gentleman that remembered your birthday and to make it special (every. single. time). He was the loving boyfriend who had a song for every occasion. He was the best friend who always had a couch to sleep on when you came to visit. He was the type to give you the shirt off his back, even if he didn’t have a shirt on his back to give. He was the one who brought people together, who didn’t want to be together. He was the one you wanted to go to a party with, or the one you wanted to sit and have a long conversation with or the one you wanted to just be in silence with. He was the Christmas that you looked forward to every year (and the Totino’s Pizza Rolls for New Years) and the road trip that you knew he would make the best mixed cd for. He was Las Vegas on Halloween, and the Eagles concert from the 7th row. He was that guy dancing at the Bob Dylan concert not giving a shit what you think. He was the rain and the stars and the moon and the sun, and life and laughter and living, mixed up in one.
Steve was raw emotion.



He lived his life on the edge of edges, never willing to take mediocrity as the norm. He was the pants with the rips in the knees (that were REAL rips, not that fake shit you buy in the store), and his Doc Martens, and his Diet Sparks and his record collection and the new bands he discovered and the old bands he discovered and the lyrics he knew by heart and the antithesis of the middle class. He was that nasty egg-white and oatmeal concoction (you know, the one with one slice of cheese and ketchup on top), and the dirty gray hoodie he borrowed from you and never gave back. He was lessons learned and knowledge gained.


He was the one your mom warned you about.

He was compassion and love and challenge and harsh and real and in-your-face and never-give-up and love and love and love.

and love.

He is survived by the good music yet to be discovered, and the memories that will always be alive, and the moments shared, and all the friends and family that will never forget him. He lives on in the hearts and minds of all who had the pleasure of being in his presence.


Steve is and always will be.

my muse, your muse, the museic we see(k).

I just found Steve's obituary in the Winona Daily News. They list him as living in North Hollywood, CA. That's my address. He lived in West Hollywood... he would have laughed at that. I laughed at that. We would have laughed together at that.

Steven King

NORTH HOLLYWOOD, Calif./Winona — Steven King, 27, of North Hollywood and formerly of Winona died Wednesday, March 11, 2009, due to injuries sustained in a motorcycle accident.

Arrangements are pending with Fawcett-Junker Funeral Home and Cremation Services, Winona.

His obituary does not do him justice, so I will make one for him. I guess I kind of need to do that, I need some closure.

I’m not so sure what to do with my feelings on this one, and I'm hurting.

Steven King, you will be forever in my heart of hearts and I’ll never forget the moments we got to share.

I never got a chance to fix that flower I put on your helmet, but i know when you wear it to wherever we go when we leave this place, it will give you Shelter From the Storm.





To all you who new Steve, he died when a vehicle ran a stop sign and hit him on his motorcycle.

… the Museic lives on (and I hope they have diet Sparks wherever you are…)

here's some comic relief... so I don't strangle Sallie Mae

i'm paying off my student loan this month... THORN IN MY SIDE


Halle-fucking-lujia!!!!

7 years I've been making minimum payments...freaking Sallie Mae had me paying little bits every month for the next 30 years!!! I calculated it and if I would have stuck with their payment plan, I would have paid MORE in interest than the actual freaking loan... Um, in all the 7 years that I was paying, I wasn't even putting a DENT in the amount because of interest.
MONEYRAPERS
but I've been sending in 2 to 3 THOUSAND extra the past few months and got it down...

this month:
10,000 buckeroos GONE, POOF
grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

but that will pay the balance. and when I see that 0.00 amount due, I do believe I will do a victory dance.

living debt free. priceless.

falled
a tear
malled (called)
a year
she sent

harmonica sounds tepid
with a slight of bout
she might have gone crazy but
lived without.

cause love is love and love is hate
when she woke up
she conceded to fate.


and maybe she doesn’t write like that anymore
but you bring
it back.

brought on by a simple twist of fate.