Sweet free (for me and Jess, not for everyone else) show in west Philly-- Andrew Jackson Jihad and Algernon Cadwallader. Most of the people in the crowd were fucking lame because they didn't move at all during the opening bands, and it took them a while to move when AJJ came on. They all straightened their hairs and had nice clothes.
Jess and I demolished them. The front was where all of the movement/moshing was, and she and I and this other girl were the only ones punching around with the guys. We linked arms and kept people (for the most part) from falling into the mic stands and when Algernon Cadwallader came on I surfed the 7 seas. And tore my shirt. We were slick fishes by the end.


Coming back we walked through Rittenhouse and ducked into the sprinklers.

I sewed up my shirt at Jess's before going home.

And it was a pretty stellar night.

Tomorrow is Dan Deacon at tha pool. Yippee skippy.

And to end on a bad/weird note, I had a very disturbing nightmare.
It began with me designing these weird dragon kite/float contraptions, ordering bigger wings/sturdier wings, and some dude stalking me the whole time.
Somehow I end up in what is my father's bedroom, but in the dream it was this stalker man's room/house. Stalker man turns out to be a serial killer, he hands me two knives, and he locks the door.
In the closet are heavily mutilated bodies, axes through the head, limbs turned to shreds and the etc.
And so I know this was my fate.
Or could be my fate if I left it to him.
I look down at the knives and my arms.

I ask him,
"So should I cut my wrists now?"
And he replies,
"Yes, I suppose so."