Kevin Higgins & Built To Spill (A Glimpse Inside My Useless Brain)

I don't have a lot to say about Kevin Higgins as he's pretty much just another footnote in a sad timeline. I do get some perverse kick, though, from seeing Friars immortalized on cardboard in a moment of failure, be it a fly ball going over Jerald Clark's head or this guy missing a tag; they're all apt. Instead, I'll focus on the background. Since September 10th, I've been jotting down random thoughts, quotes, sketches and notes to self in a large, green, hardbound sketchbook an acquaintance gave me for my birthday. I've had many a sketchpad and written all sorts of gibberish but never combined the two; frankly, I feel like a seven-year-old girl with a Hello Kitty diary. I do enjoy the quaintness and immediacy the medium provides. The whole thing comes off as I expect a rough draft of a Henry Rollins travelogue does- ongoing missives of anger, self-doubt, alienation and general disgust for nearly all that I see. If ever relevant, I may co-opt some entries for inclusion here or at the still-existing P 'n' E... but for now, it's just quotes in the background.