out of direction, out of streets to drive down for the first time. Haven't written much creative lately, and I feel the pent up insanity slapping slimy old cold fish against the backs of my knees, can't wake up, bloated, green, and covered with a hundred kinds of crabs and flies. Inspiration! Problem solving! Problems that used to baffle me! Conjuring intuition. These are but a few of the benefits of spitting what ought to be spit. Swallowing that black lung butter I hack up daily ain't good for a digestive tract; got to spit it out, in an appropriate place.
Listening to Robert Goulet croon Ave Maria; loving it with the setting sun. Not even five yet, golly is November good for activities best done under cover of night.
Night People, hanging out, talking 'bout "Day People" - they don't know what it's all about.
