i've got marks from last night and colored sprinkles in the car.
"i hope they have a lizzie mcguire where she has sex and we can watch." -cristinky on her wishes for a "special" episode until she realized what she said and we laughed for thirty hours.
it's sunny outside but the sun warms me here as the wind chills me outdoors.
i wonder if there is something i can write about for pages, that endless flow of thought and mystique. take on me, my friend. i used to want to play guitar really badly. but i've got a problem called laziness, so i never learned. that, and i'm scared to play in front of other people. i can write about the drugs i've never taken in order to feel better. feeling coked out and reeling in spinning lights or wading through the air with sound waves like water waves pounding against my body, the surf. i've got jesus painting my roof red and the paint drips off like blood from a crucifix. soak it up in the soil growing rosy in time and heaving with life. spawning life, filling parchment with images of knotted wood and black printed letters forming words in other languages that hit spinning eyes with hurricane force of misinterpretation. moves on the dance floor angle geometrically tangent to the grand scheme of things like the penetration of the hoover dam by liquid power forming sexual electricity. static attraction by rubbing two things together. and when the fire dies down, the tattoos of ash and burning remain behind until decomposition. let the fingers stream down the bare of the back to the chasm. rolling around in oil paints till the skin takes on different forms and the gooiness holds our bodies tight together.
for johnny: sorry cuts it. someone as stunning a friend as you can get away with a sorry b/c would we really have been that good of friends if we couldn't forgive? and i do.
currently spinning: belle and sebastian: simple things