LOG - 06082026 I am two hundred and fifty thousand human dollars richer after performing at that one Dave's sanctioned little party in the cafe. Though I felt out of my element 8eing in someplace so pristine and well-kept, the audience could not hold 8ack from my hypnotics chords peddled along my red Stratocaster. For a moment, I could 8elieve that the 8attle and all that was wrought was 8ut a distant memory of the past, 8uried in one particularly 8ad decision that somehow through a circuitous journey of self discovery had 8een forgiven. 8ut those are dreams, and dreams are thoughts that confuse process with real action. I was paid and praised for my performance, and with that, I returned to the quiet emptiness of the 8arren world I 8eheld. That lovely guitar was once again put away for the firmness and certainty of the 8lade, and my eyes were glazed as the reality I grew comforta8le slipping 8ack in again. I have got to get the fuck out of here. Until next time.
