11.Oct.2001

I love Velvet Acid Christ

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outside the box

I am running out of words. Think outside the box. Outside. Words and words and outside. Upstairs sex, downstairs denial, two completely different existences measured solely on location. I am running out of words, I am thinking in music, I am encumbered by ambition, or the fact ambition refuses to lift past the clandestine point in my cerebrum. This thought fucks my central nervous system.

The eleventh of any month is going to be referred to as x month(s) following The Attack. Incidently, the eleventh of any month has always meant a great deal to me.

I edit every diary entry a great deal.

I am listening to Velvet Acid Christ, and it's beautiful while I drink beer at seven-thirty in the morning.

I am running out of words.

My thoughts are expressed in motions, pictures, typing is an arduous task merely because words - and lack thereof - scare me ("Because I'm afraid of worms, Roxanne, worms!").

I am drinking beer at seven-thirty in the morning.

At least I don't stick my dick into an electrical socket.

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time & machine