Gotta keep this short, feeling better, more relaxed about the hordes of unwashed, degrading hippies. Now just feeling a little bitterness towards the Moroccan drug dealers who were hell-bent on selling me cocaine this afternoon.

Also, saw the Van Gogh museum this afternoon and it made me feel a lot better about my depression because he killed himself in 1890 when he was barely 40 years old. Shot himself in the head with a psitol while standing in a wheat field. After seeing the exhibits in the museum, I felt a much deeper understanding with Van Gogh in a way not unlike the respect that Antonin Artaud felt for Van Gogh (for a good, but meandering read, check out this essay online, use the right words on google and you might find it).

Tomorrow, Ryan gets in and I'm a little nervous. he's gotten too bonkers these days, an almost total right-off in Rome. Well, hope for the best.

HELLO FROM THE FLYING PIG