Obviously the name and the actual date disagree but I will not prevent myself from writing under this title and monicker. No to a big cigar in celebration. Awful lot of money wasted. Celebrate a certainty a band decision. The balloons would have been worthless. But it is all okay. The lights were incredible and the sweat and discussion was great. The energy propelled the songs to higher speeds. As our heart rates increased and a girl delivers me a beer. But nonetheless I am stuck back. Try to contact one body through space to coalesce into full reality, from all bits of approximation, into the back room. Where we could be alone at least, in the sense that no one is in the room with us, although the blinds are wide open. (I remember it vividly).
Rose colored glasses lost when the junkie technique of your arm lets lose. The cigar smokes like a dictator deciding who to bomb or who to hold up constantly. Cannot smoke right. Mouth cancer and full habit of air conditioning. Contradiction as opposed to cold shivering outside in the random Arizona rain. It did not make sense and the label Friday the 13th made perfect sense. (I am still relatively responsible. I barely drank enough. Nearly forgot back pack in cab. Had the responsibility to call the cab and walk through the back. (neighbor complaining about the noise at 2 in the morning. audience piles out. no one wants to stay. why would that happen. captivated perhaps but they had to say something. I danced briefly with a girl from anthro. Make sure to make a conversation out of that next week. I know I saw you. We saw each other and thought the very same thing.) I play bass. They talked but no solid reaction formed.
No parts, lesser individually, destroyed our collective. I wish to break apart and form again into the arms of someone I can trust and enjoy. Someone. (gone for the night. smoke hurt my teeth). your guts are red plaster. make sense of that.
Your tongue is blue with assorted suckers, my decision, the gum, and the prestige. The bass and the kick, and many different levels of miscommunication. We all lived our own world. I danced fuck. But my heads end up facing down. The purple back story ended up falling short. Change my shirt on stage. I don't care. Is the general consensus. The attitude that comes secondary to such drunken antics. The taxi through the drive through. "I bet my body will fucking regret eating this." Come on. You are 19 to 20 years old.
Rainbow lights. Freestyle of cigarettes. Quit on 20th birthday. And some commitment. Standoffish is accidental if the person is defensive and guarded for a purpose such as in planning for a fast approachin show.
Our eyes never misguided the truth, but mostly I feel alone like the lack of a person to share warmth with beneath an inner city overpass, maybe they call they viaducts, somber
