life's a bitch and then you die

so for the first time on saturday i became a part of a drunken brawl and got elbowed in the face by some lanky goldsmiths looking twat, y'know the type- in a band/ dj/ write for vice etc. don't get me wrong, i'm sure they have their uses.. since when was accelerating egoism in self involved scenesters not a productive thing to be getting on with? i mean, why don't you just kill yourself.

so anyway, hating on people is clearly taking centre stage here. am i trying to lick my vain wounds and mask the fact that i'm now old enough to recognise when i feel physically threatened? i'm sure that these things are totally seperate from the natural inclinations my soul dreams of; yet somehow the idea of bowing down to some jumped up twat makes me furious- who hits girls anyway.

i'm working again after my stint of volunteering, which would be cool if only i could get rid of my mountain of debt and 530AM alarms.