A Black Feather, A poison pen... ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------- so i buried my Strokes CD somewhere near the bottom of the pile. I like it (or i did, who the fuck knows?) but it's onme of those things i can't listen to anymore without some bad association. Spent most of yesterday playing with the cat and listening to the tattered remains of a tape of John Lee Hooker i made years and years ago from a collection of old blues records one of my friends used to have. switched from cloves back to unfiltered camels, got buzzed like a lightweight off of a single smirnoff ice bomber, tricked Destruction Kitty (tonya) into chasing something into the other room so i could make it outside without her running smack into the jaws of any of the neighborhood dogs. concealed from co-workers my desire to be hit by an asteroid, worked like a fucking madman. end of line 5:40 p.m. - 2003-08-11 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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