I realize the dangers in dating this entry.
It's just one of those days.
you wake up with your shirt ripped open
in some girls dorm room apartment
and you ask yourself: Where did those 48 hours go?
you sigh and humbly agree with yourself.
I went and saw The Rum Diary last night.
But, naturally not with out the premeditated
murder of a 750 ml bottle of rum.
Damn! It treated me well.
sometimes I just sit back in bewilderment
and let those bastards at the bank
eat me alive and bitching.
I ate the concrete last night --
inside and out. There was a traffic
cone that did not bode me well.
in the end, I'm a terrible writer
when I'm drinking.
As long as I stack words on top of each other,
then who can complain of what I'm thinking?