BOBBY PRINCE PASSED AWAY TOO - 6/19/26

current mood: really Sad
current tunes: Welcome to a Kick In Yore Pants In Good Ole Hillville! - Bobby Prince

Today is not going to plan already. If you don't know, Bobby Prince wrote a lot of the music in early id software games, namely Commander Keen, Wolfenstein 3D, and Doom.
Tom Hall's post from which I found out: bsky.app/profile/thattomhall.bsky.social/post/3momgnsrxyk2i
At least I know Tom Hall's on Bluesky now? It's still so saddening.

A Dream I Dont Care To Disect [or really think about] Right Now - 6/19/26

current mood: the halfway point between mildly freaked out and scream-crying
current tunes: Wave Of Mutilation - Pixies

Last night's dream was toeing the fine line between "weird and uncomfortable" and "straight up nightmare". It started relatively fine, I was playing with my dog Mary in my room. Usually, in real life, Mary doesnt go in my room unless she's extremly scared and/or clingly in that moment, but whatever, it's a dream, I can suspend my disbelief for something small like that. It was late at night, and I felt a presence outside. I turned my attention to my window and saw a person walking along the opposing sidewalk. Now, instead of feeling just their presences, I could read their thoughts aswell. They were almost exactly like me, and they were going to end it all via walking in front of a car [why someone would do this in a random suburban neighborhood and not the highway or something is beyond me, but I fear I would do the same.] I froze up, I didn't know what to do. Do I go outside and try and talk them off the cliff? They stopped walking directly in front of where I stood in my window, turned, and took a daring step into the street.

I don't remember what happened in between the previously stated and the collision. All I remember was what happened next. The person was a mangled heap of reds pinks and browns, their guts splurted out, and overall stickied to the road like bad gum. I heard the klaxon synth of the ambulance, at least I wasn't the only one to see this. Now I could read the minds of the nurses and parametics on the scene, and the only emotion I could parse from them was annoyance and disgust. "God, I hate my job," and "I hope this freak went to hell, making ME pry them off the road with an oversized paint scrapper," and "Ew, why did I sign up to clean entrails for the rest of my working life?" I wanted to go out there and rough them up so bad, but after seeing someone just like me kill themselves I just couldn't find the strength.

Maybe this is punishment for playing Doom and listening to Radiohead before bed.