10.0ct.2001

fuck-music

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device

I have discovered that Orbital puts me to sleep, save "Sinner", which makes me want to crush someone sexually with my thighs. My head is in flames.

Currently, I am writing music again and have been presented with the opportunity to pen a verse or two for J. It's a shame the entire world isn't listening to his music right now; I suppose all in due time. Upon him sending me the recent excerpt, he asked what I thought.

I said, "I think you just saved me."

He said, "That's a bold statement."

I have it looped as words sluice through my brain-tide, something about flowing, something about languid.

Last night, between orgasms, my fuck-glazed eyes focused on the window and I noticed the grey underbelly of clouds, and it bore a significance for two seconds before my head fell back.

It's officially Autumn. This appeases me, although I have intense aversions to colder weather. Last Friday night at Larry's, walking to his door, I smelled that lush, Autumny scent in the air, then we partook of much drinking until about 6 in the morning. Crown and cokes, sharing random stories, and he began praising my musical genius.

He grabbed the back of my head lightly, took me to a mirror and said,

"I want to show you a fucking genius. Do you see that? That's a genius."

He has yet, however, to hear what genius my friends can create, and what they inevitably send to me, further driving me into delicious madness. This all makes me pound on the computer's keyboard, somehow making musical sense to my loins.

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time & machine