A Black Feather, A poison pen... ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- anything my house, like berlin before the wall came down but with cats instead of germans divided by the partitions. Mostly Misfits songs running through my head today, some Samhain, some Danzig, nothing sweet, just the raw malignance of a howling voice. when autumn comes will i have the will or the care to paint in words the pretty pictures of a dying day? or should i just content myself to vanish into the longer shadows when nighttime falls? save for a few extra bills and the need to add a few necessary items to my wardrobe, i think my plan to catch the Street-Scene concert(s) in San Diego have officially gone belly-up, because i know i have a couple of other major expenses coming due that week and while i could get away with the cost of the ticket to the show and the transportation, the question of where to stay and how badly i would get reamed on a weekend hotel rate is the X-factor that made my decision for me, that and my buddy from the video store is switching meds and doesn't trust his new crew of clerks to work the store in his absence...and having been served by them on a couple of occasions, i concur. blah blah blah, sound of me talking is just so much wasted wind slipping into the distance. fuck 8:19 p.m. - 2003-08-25 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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