1 'h3art' s@n p3dr0
oh my fuckin' god...
crackies, hookers, and punk-ass kids. this towns' got it all.
time and breath are to be wasted in the most glorious of fashions. while dancing with beauty, while wallowing in crapulencse, while flirting with the vision of love. while taking chances and hitting the floor. while falling upon swords and while waving to the gods of all that cannot be counted within our lifetimes.
let me waste, let me waste, let me waste.
it's like an art ...
when i was young, i had a knack. not the dubious knack for untold success. nor the knack for being the best. not even a knack for seeing things clear or even a knack for drinking some beer. it was a knack that came right off the shelf. yes, it was the knack for screwing myself.
b/-\ck 0n tr@ck
and here we go ...
getting hit by a car ain't got nothin' on the best dream of the week.
it all starts out in a big dark house with a girl . tummy kisses and soft giggles on the couch lit only by the soft glow of the fire. in the distance outside the window and beyond the mountains there are huge beautiful clouds rising up and spewing hot lightning and rain with light bursting forth in orange, yellow, blues, and green. we both sit at the window amazed snapping pictures and sharing the awesome site.
in a way, i'm back ...
well since my phone is not sending anymore messages (damn you cingular) i am once again relegated to actually writing things down.
after losing my urge to pencil, the cause has arisen inside me again. i feel it banging itself against the insides of my dense metacarples and oozing out of my nail beds begging for attention.
i have acquiesced. it's time to dance. will you join me again?