Part of my design (love the new...!)

Only one day before.  Life is so sad, life is sad.  That little thing found in the store.  I wrap it around me like a blanket.  Only for you I don’t regret that I was….  None of my thoughts are truly mine.  Taking for granted.  Sexy Star, that was amazing.  Fantastic storytelling, greatness.  You deserve it!

  
Eric Avery and Peter Hook are two of my favorite bassists ever.  As I pore through the discography of Perry Farrell – including the latter two Jane’s Addiction albums – I am becoming more convinced of the irreplaceable importance of Avery’s contributions.  And Hook’s lines are so melodic and beautiful, so innovative and inspirational.  If I wasn’t such a worthless sack of shit I’d be able to better articulate my feelings on his playing and properly explain his greatness and significance as a bass player.  

And they understood, in the end they understood.  How could they grasp things so well and so eloquently?!  Oh she has….  Old man walked into the place and called her his love.  What’s happening to all of us?  Nothing without misery.  I’m gonna take you home.  Who says that to him?  He looks to sky skeptically, mockingly.  Who are we following, inventing new idols every single day?  On that most lovey dovey of days you wore white.  Do you remember that?  Pure white.  Immediate angelic connotations.  Then a splash of red.  Devilish.  Sumptuos.  Lovely.  Smile killing everyone

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Muse disappearing.  Keep coming back.  He thinks he has begged but the truth is something different.  There are no chance encounters, no opportunities to set things straight.  

The new Godzilla movie looks amazing.  I think I already mentioned that somewhere.  

The belief is not the problem.  people are simply awful.  

These are our earliest explorations in sexual experiences, aren’t they?  Where are you going to find me?  Buried somewhere and blissfully strangled.  Dolphins screaming.  More and more we are simply a group of very imperfect people.  Are we all just pretending and is our salvation a myth etched on a crumbling statue?  Her arm around his throat and applying ever more pressure while whispering sweet nothings into his ear, her breath hot against his skin.  Wrapped tightly around. Squeezing.  Belittling. Humiliation.  Dominance.  Wonder  
When did profanity become so lovely?  “You are so fucking…!”  With that perfect it inflection it is oh so yum.  

I don’t know about the color blue anymore.  I’m listening to her again.  She is becoming one of my all-time favorites.  What color are those shoes again?  Thank you for keeping everything so interesting.  Inflections are blowing things up as they should be.  I think I am going to fall very hard.  His twisted logic makes sense to him alone.  Why don’t we feel more for those who are genuinely trying?  

Please, he does not want to rob this happiness away from anyone.  Let him see her smiling, in her eyes smiling.  When you strip away everything else what are you left with?

It is best not to teach anyone to look into their eyes.  this is highly recommended though, right?  We have to keep the machine turning.  Every experience must be unique and special and highly pleasurable.  I cannot justify anything.  

I am not a master of clocks nor have I ever been.  Joy seems to last for a few seconds and then things turn a not so nice shade again.  Morning?  Or mourning?  Either way where is the….  They both wonder this.  Those lights certainly help things in the immediate sense don’t they?  Everyone takes it for granted but only because they is nothing actually there.  When will you ever learn?  This isn’t about wearing black gloves.  The ache is still the same.  At this point, does anyone really know what anyone else is talking about?  Aren’t we all just spouting nonsense?  Maybe I should just play a rousing game of solitaire while slamming my face against a brick wall!  As a child I was always fascinated by how bricks are made and with the brick laying process.  Wonderful things, bricks; the building blocks of life you might say.  

I never quite know when I’ve plucked enough feathers.  He thinks perhaps it is time to make a list of all the centrals.  Through that everything can be returned time and time again.  like floating down the river with no destination except it is finally the….  Muses.  Nothing can afford to be forgotten anymore.  It is all so fleeting and hard to come by.  Was there a tiger staring at me from the foot of my bed?  Why do I feel so scared?  Oh God please don’t let it get near me please don’t let it touch me.  

We’re in a mountain somewhere and now I’m on my back.  He wonders why they always look him directly in the eyes but finally he understands.  It is so awfully hard to talk to people anymore.  What is this strange stuff we have covering our bones.  Headaches.  Sleepiness.  All over again and again.  I must lose weight and then tan.  
I don’t know what it’s called but I really like that hip hairstyle women are rocking where they kind of shave part of one side.  When done right it looks very cute!  What the heck do I know though?  My opinion doesn’t matter!  I’m as ugly and repulsive as they come!  Batten down the hatches now!  All aboard!!!  

Let this not be true please let this not be true.  You’ve created this cacophonic thing but somehow it encompasses everything inside.  Why can’t he express anything?  Who has been holding his tongue all this time?  This head is always pointing in a down direction.  I thank all the ones who still talk about you.  How many years did you say again?  It’s me, it’s just me and I might one day know again what that means.  Don’t let me in.  I don’t think I said that to anyone recently but I might have.  Can’t go anymore, that sounds right.  Lights up and chatter stops.  Everything exposed and ugly.  As it should be.  And always blurry these days.  

I fuck up every night and sleep all day.