these false updates are pissing me off, et tu New York Times? wtf.

whether he was a druggie, not a druggie, depressed, accidental, whatever ... all of it just adds up to really sad. I don't need to have met him or known him to be upset, the concept of someone/something that young so very publicly perishing is a reminder that there's no rhyme or reason to dying, we are very much mortal.


I hate the way you talk to me, and the way you cut your hair.
I hate the way you drive my car.
I hate it when you stare.
I hate your big dumb combat boots, and the way you read my mind.
I hate you so much it makes me sick; it even makes me rhyme.
I hate it, I hate the way you're always right.
I hate it when you lie.
I hate it when you make me laugh, even worse when you make me cry.
I hate it when you're not around, and the fact that you didn't call.
But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you.
Not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.

(Big up to Cooper)