empathetic soothsayer or gullible shit-magnet?

people have inherent radar. addicts find one another; the weak are drawn to the strong. i beckon jobless, unmotivated, overly intelligent flakes with mental issues. i always have. ever since high school, my mother used to call the men i was interested in "my little strays."
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it's funny but painful. the more coherent and altogether i feel, the more fucked-up the situations i get myself into. i cannot settle for a mundane balance. if there is not preexisting drama i find ways to invent it. i like to take care of people, distract myself from my own bullshit, and not be bored. this is fucked up. i think i deserve better, but not always.
pipes along denny way, shining in the rare 70 degree sun:

the female loo at the five point. i finally got to see the men's toilet, with its space needle periscope- i almost stood in the trough-urinal. the women's facilities are, unfortunately, subpar. the quaint b&w tint belies the lurid green wall tile.

acid mothers temple are fucking good. they are 21st century can.

my parents found this photograph. my mother had these boots since the '70s. i always hoped i'd eventually be able to fit them; she wears a 9 or 10. i wear size 7. i have no recollection of ths picture being taken, but i used to dress up a lot.

true happiness comes from not giving a shit. but giving a shit proves you're alive...